THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


* 

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The  Sunken  Road  at  Waterloo 

Photogravure.     From  a  Painting  by  Stanley  Berkley 

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With  a  Gen : 

ROSSITER      JoriN&( 

Claeeic  tTalce 

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jfamous  Hutbors 

CONTAINING     COMPLETE      SELECTIONS     FROM 

THE  WORLD'S  BEST  AUTHORS  WITH  PREFATORY 

BIOGRAPHICAL     AND      SYNOPTICAL     NOTES 

Edited  and  Arranged  by 

Frederick    B.  De    Berard 

.  4-S z^ 

With  a  General  Introduction  by 

Rossiter     Johnson,    LL.D. 

Published  by 

1  H  E     B  O  D  L  1^:  1  A  N    S  O  C  I  E  T  Y 

New    York 

IAN   1906 

Columbia    JE^itton 

The  publishers  guarantee  that  this  edition 
is  strictly  limited  to  one  thousand  numbered 
and  registered  copies,  of  which  this  is  copy 

ma 


Copyright  1902 

Copyright  1905 

BY 

The  Bodleian  Society 


MADE   BY 

THE    WERNER    COMPANV 

AKRON,    OHIO 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

General  Preface, iii 

General  Introduction,       ....  xiii 

Critical  Synopsis  of  Selections,     .        .  xxxiii 

Biographical  Dictionary  of  Authors,  xli 


Waterloo Victor  Hugo  ii 

Balaklava      .        .        .      William  Howard  Russell  39 

Drums  of  the  Fore  and  Aft      .      Rudyard  Kipling  49 

Csesar  at  Alesia     .        .       James  Antfwny  Froude  91 

Service  of  Danger,  A     .        .     Amelia  B.  Edwards  lOl 

Ivry Lord  Macaulay  125 

In  the  Land  of  the  Masai      .      H.  Rider  Haggard  131 

Battle  of  Beal'  an  Duine,  The        Sir  Walter  Scott  181 

Revolt  of  Lucifer,  The      .        .        .      John  Milton  189 

Picture  of  War,  A      .        .        .    J.  A.  MacGahan  211 

Downfall  of  the  Moors,  The      Washington  Irving  237 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGE 

The  Sunken  Road  at  Waterloo       .        .        Frontispiece 

Frederick  B.   De   Berard iii 

Dr.  Rossiter  Johnson xiii 

Charge  of  the  Cuirassiers  at  Waterloo     ...        25 

Heroes  of  Waterloo 31 

Day  After  Waterloo 35 

Balaklava  .43 

Death  of  Caesar 93 

H.  Rider  Haggard  .        .        .        .        .        .131 

Sir  Walter  Scott 181 

John  Milton 189 

Oliver  Cromwell  Visiting  Milton  .        .        .      191 

Milton  Dictating  to  His  Daughter  .        .        .197 

The  Soldier's  Dream 215 

Gates  of  Justice,  Alhambra,  Granada      .        .        .      251 


GENERAL  PREFACE 


Portrait  of  Frederick  B.  De  Berard 


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GENERAL  PREFACE 


THE  WORLD  OF  BOOKS 

SIR  THOMAS  BROWNE,  in  his  "Hydriotaphia," 
muses  quaintly  upon  the  mutability  of  man  and 
his  works;  how  uncounted  generations  pass  into 
nothingness  and  leave  no  trace;  how  mighty  empires 
decay  and  vanish;  how  all  that  the  hand  of  man  has 
wrought  crumbles  under  the  touch  of  time  and  is  hidden 
by  the  pall  of  oblivion. 

Man  dies  and  is  forgot;  his  corporeal  form  vanishes 
utterly;  but  the  creations  of  his  mind,  the  essence  of 
his  potency,  live  on  and  on  through  the  ages.  The 
physical  being  is  transitory:  the  thought — intangible, 
without  entity — is  immortal  and  survives  the  assault  of 
time,  the  tooth  of  decay,  and  the  clash  of  empires. 

The  noblest  works  of  man's  hands  are  but  fleeting 
witnesses  of  vanished  greatness — melancholy  monuments 
to  the  shadow  of  a  name,  memorials  which  show  forth 
naught  of  the  actual  man.  Only  in  the  world  of  thought 
may  imperishable  monuments  be  founded,  only  in  the 
magic  domain  of  books  may  the  hidden  past  be  unveiled, 
the  spirits  of  those  long  dead  be  re-created  in  the 
semblance  of  living  humanity — instinct  with  passion  and 
feeling,  vivid  portraitures  of  past  actualities.  The  spirit- 
ual part  of  Man  departs,  we  know  not  whither;  his 
bodily  presence  dissolves  and  vanishes ;  but  that  which 
was  potent  in  him,  the  creative  force  of  Mind,  survives 
in  books,  the  mediums  which  bear  living  messages  from 


GENERAL  PREFACE 

the  dead  past,  and  transmit  to  the  living  present  the 
mental  impulses  born  of  great  minds  in  the  long  ago. 
Here  is  embalmed,  secure  against  oblivion,  aught  that 
is  worthy  of  remembrance ;  here  are  the  true  memorials 
of  the  actual  man,  inscribed  by  by-gone  chroniclers — his 
passions,  his  emotions,  his  heroic  deeds,  written  in  words 
of  gold,  or  sung  in  tenderest  accents  by  some  great  poet 
— his  character  and  motives  mercilessly  dissected  by 
some  great  mental  anatomist,  the  noble  crowned  with 
the  laurels  of  immortal  fame,  the  ignoble  damned  to 
everlasting  infamy. 
The  nations  of  the  dead  are  an  innumerable  host : 

"—All  that  tread 
The  globe  are  but  a  handful  to  the  tribes 
That  slumber  in  its  bosom." 

The  crude  imaginings  of  all  races  have  peopled  earth 
and  air  with  disembodied  spirits,  invisible  to  mortal 
eyes,  who  throng  about  us  by  day  and  night,  bemoaning 
wasted  lives,  lamenting  the  crimes  and  follies  of  the 
past,  and  haunting  the  living  with  vague  terrors.  But 
these  are  the  creations  of  superstition  and  ignorance — • 
the  fearsome  shapes  assumed  by  evil  beings  animated  by 
malevolence,  the  heralds  of  terror,  injury  and  death. 

Not  such  are  the  spirits  evoked  from  the  past  by  the 
magic  of  letters,  to  inhabit  this  realm  of  books,  the 
illimitable  domain  of  Thought.  Hither  the  centuries 
send  throngs  of  stately  shades,  the  spiritual  embodiment 
of  great  minds,  the  reincarnation  of  all  the  golden 
thoughts  and  worthy  deeds  that  Time  has  crowned 
with  immortality.  All  that  men  deem  noblest  and  deem 
of  greatest  worth — the  profound  thoughts  of  mighty 
intellects;  the  lofty  ideals  of  spiritual  minds;  the  beauty 
of  holiness ;  the  inspiring  recitals  of  heroic  deeds,  of 
abnegation  and  self-sacrifice,  of  charity,  kindly  acts  and 


GENERAL  PREFACE 

all  good  works ;  the  dainty  fancy,  graceful  imagery,  the 
beautiful  thought,  the  poet's  melody  and  the  soaring 
imagination  of  the  story-teller — these  are  the  gracious 
oflferings  brought  by  the  glorious  shades  of  the  past  to 
the  treasure-house  of  Knowledge — their  spiritual  essence 
transmuted  into  books,  through  which  the  great  minds  of 
distant  centuries  shall  forever  hold  communion  with 
untold  millions. 

Their  corporeal  lives  are  separated  from  ours  by 
centuries  of  time ;  their  bodily  abodes,  mayhap,  were  far 
distant,  across  vast  spaces  of  land  and  sea,  beset  with 
deadly  perils  and  unimaginable  fatigues,  frightful  with 
terrors  and  fearful  portents. 

But  lo !  a  marvel ! 

Here  is  a  book — a  fragile  thing  at  best,  sensitive  to 
many  agencies  of  destruction.  Ranged  about  the  walls, 
row  upon  row,  are  many  others — "infinite  riches  in  a 
little  room."  A  fleeting  fancy,  an  idle  hand  stretched 
forth,  a  half-purposeless  turning  of  the  leaves,  and 
behold!  in  a  flash  time  and  space  are  annihilated,  we 
have  sped  forty  centuries  into  the  past,  and  raptly 
hearken  to  an  old  blind  poet,  a  homeless  stroller  who 
chants  to  the  low  undertone  of  his  harp  the  wondrous 
story  of  Troy.  The  blind  old  minstrel.  Homer,  rolls 
forth  the  tale  of  fierce  combat  and  the  deeds  of  heroes, 
in  words  sometimes  stately  and  sonorous  as  the  ocean's 
roar,  sometimes  racing  with  the  speed  and  turbulence  of 
a  mountain  torrent ;  now  soaring  and  flashing  like  raging 
fire,  anon  moving  with  the  calm  majesty  of  a  great  river. 
As  he  sings,  the  warring  hosts  of  Hellas  and  Troy  leap 
into  being,  the  tumult  of  the  battle  is  all  about  us,  the 
din  of  arms,  the  death-shriek,  the  furious  shout,  resound ; 
the  fierce  chiefs,  the  madly-rushing  chariots,  the  deadly 
struggle  for  the  gate,  the  desperate  defence  of  the  ships 
— we  are  in  the  midst  of  these  actualities,  the  undying 
progeny  of  the  brain,  the  immortal  children  of  the  poet's 


GENERAL  PREFACE 

lofty  thought.  The  sun  sinks  low,  the  battle  ceases,  the 
tumult  lessens  to  silence;  darkness  falls  and  the  heavens 
are  bright  with  the  radiance  of  stars ;  when  lo !  a  thou- 
sand  camp  fires  gleam  upon  the  plain ;  and  soon  the 
warring  hosts  lie  plunged  in  sleep. 

"As  when  in  heav'n,  around  the  glitt'ring  moon 
The  stars  shine  bright  amid  the  breathless  air; 
And  ev'ry  crag,  and  ev'ry  jutting  peak 
Stands  boldly  forth,  and  ev'ry  forest  glade ; 
Ev'n  to  the  gates  of  Heav'n  is  open'd  wide 
The  boundless  sky :   shines  each  particular  star 
Distinct;  joy  fills  the  gazing  shepherd's  heart. 
So  bright,  so  thickly  scatter'd  o'er  the  plain. 
Before  the  walls  of  Troy,  between  the  ships 
And  Xanthus'  stream,  the  Trojan  watchfires  blaz'd. 
A  thousand  fires  burnt  brightly ;  and  round  each 
Sat  fifty  warriors  in  the  ruddy  glare ; 
Champing  the  provender  before  them  laid. 
Barley  and  rye,  the  tether'd  horses  stood 
Beside  the  cars,  and  waited  for  the  morn." 

Four  thousand  years  ago  the  warrior  bands  of  Greece 
and  Troy  sprang  from  the  poet's  brain :  for  forty  cen- 
turies they  have  been  battling  on  by  day :  and  now,  as  I 
turn  the  leaves  of  Homer,  I  stand  on  the  plain  of  Ilium, 
the  tired  warriors  still  peacefully  slumber  beside  their 
watchfires  after  the  toils  of  battle,  and  as  of  old  the 
overarching  heavens  are  brilliant  with  silver  stars. 

"For  books  are  not  absolutely  dead  things,"  says 
Milton,  "but  do  contain  a  potency  of  life  in  them  to  be 
as  active  as  that  soul  was  whose  progeny  they  are ;  nay, 
they  do  preserve,  as  in  a  vial,  the  purest  efficacy  and 
extraction  of  that  living  intellect  that  bred  them.  .  .  . 
Many  a  man  lives  a  burden  to  the  earth;  but  a  good 
book  is  the  precious  life-blood  of  a  master  spirit,  em- 


GENERAL  PREFACE 

balmed  and  treasured  up  on  purpose  for  a  life  beyond 
life." 

Many  have  written  lovingly  of  delightful  intimacies, 
through  books,  with  the  noblest  and  best  of  past  ages. 
Nearly  six  hundred  years  ago,  "When  all  the  land  was 
filled  with  violence,"  and  the  light  of  knowledge  had 
fallen  very  faint,  Richard  de  Bury  in  his  Philobiblon 
wrote  in  the  Latin  tongue  these  words  in  praise  of 
books : 

"The  library,  therefore,  of  wisdom  is  more  precious 
than  all  riches;  and  nothing  that  can  be  wished  for  is 
worthy  to  be  compared  with  it.  Whosoever  acknowl- 
edges himself  to  be  a  zealous  follower  of  truth,  of  hap- 
piness, of  wisdom,  of  science,  or  even  of  the  faith,  must 
of  necessity  make  himself  a  Lover  of  Books." 

In  later  days  Lowell  descants  in  similar  strain ;  Dr. 
Holmes,  the  witty  "Autocrat,"  tells  of  the  cumulated 
wisdom  of  Nineteenth  Century  youth  and  their  advan- 
tages over  the  sages  of  the  past ;  and  a  long  line  of 
reflective  minds  take  up  the  theme. 

"Consider  what  you  have  in  the  smallest  chosen 
library,"  says  Emerson.  "A  company  of  the  wisest  and 
wittiest  men  that  could  be  picked  out  of  all  civil  coun- 
tries in  a  thousand  years,  have  set  in  best  order  the 
results  of  their  learning  and  wisdom.  The  men  them- 
selves were  hid  and  inaccessible,  solitary,  impatient  of 
interruption,  fenced  by  etiquette ;  but  the  thought  which 
they  did  not  uncover  to  their  bosom  friend  is  here 
written  out  in  transparent  words,  to  us,  the  strangers 
of  another  age." 

An  eloquent  divine  thus  voices  the  profound  feelings 
which  books  inspire :  "Let  us  thank  God  for  books ! 
When  I  consider  what  some  books  have  done  for  the 
world,  and  what  they  are  doing;  how  they  keep  up  our 
hope,  awaken  new  courage  and  faith,  soothe  pain,  give 
an  ideal  life  to  those  whose  homes  are  hard  and  cold, 


GENERAL  PREFACE 

bind  together  distant  ages  and  foreign  lands,  create  new 
worlds  of  beauty,  bring  down  truths  from  heaven — I  give 
eternal  blessings  for  this  gift,  and  pray  that  we  may  use 
it  aright,  and  abuse  it  not." 

Still  loftier  is  the  strain,  more  intimate  the  apprecia- 
tion of  Edwin  Percy  Whipple :  "Precious  and  priceless 
are  the  blessings  which  books  scatter  around  our  daily 
paths.  We  walk,  in  imagination,  with  the  noblest  spirits, 
through  the  most  sublime  and  enchanting  regions — 
regions  which,  to  all  that  is  lovely  in  the  forms  and 
colors  of  earth, 

"Add  the  gleam, 
The  light  that  never  was  on  land  or  sea, 
The  consecration  and  the  poet's  dream." 

"A  motion  of  the  hand  brings  all  Arcadia  to  sight. 
The  war  of  Troy  can,  at  our  bidding,  rage  in  the  nar- 
rowest chamber.  Without  stirring  from  our  firesides, 
we  may  roam  to  the  most  remote  regions  of  the  earth, 
or  soar  into  realms  where  Spenser's  shapes  of  unearthly 
beauty  flock  to  meet  us,  where  Milton's  angels  peal  in 
our  ears  the  choral  hymns  of  Paradise.  Science,  art,  lit- 
erature, philosophy — all  that  man  has  thought,  all  that 
man  has  done — the  experience  that  has  been  bought  with 
the  sufferings  of  a  hundred  generations — all  are  gar- 
nered up  for  us  in  the  world  of  books.  There,  among 
realities,  in  a  'substantial  world,'  we  move  with  the 
crowned  kings  of  thought.  There  our  minds  have  a  free 
range,  our  hearts  a  free  utterance.  Reason  is  confined 
within  none  of  the  partitions  that  trammel  it  in  life.  In 
that  world,  no  divinity  hedges  a  king,  no  accident  of 
rank  or  fashion  ennobles  a  dunce  or  shields  a  knave. 
We  can  select  our  companions  from  among  the  most 
richly  gifted  of  the  sons  of  God;  and  they  are  com- 
panions who  will  not  desert  us  in  poverty,  or  sickness, 
or  disgrace." 

viii 


GENERAL  PREFACE 

In  every  age  since  the  light  of  letters  began  to  illumine 
the  pathway  of  mankind,  the  praise  of  books  has  been 
heralded  by  men  of  finer  mold,  those  attuned  to  the 
subtler  harmonies  of  existence,  responsive  to  the  rarer 
and  more  spiritual  of  the  forces  which  shape  men's  lives. 
But  for  long  the  class  of  book-lovers  was  a  mere  handful. 
Only  in  very  recent  times  have  the  generality  of  men 
come  into  their  delightful  heritage  in  the  world  of  books 
— the  domain  where  the  accidents  of  time  and  space  are 
not,  where  the  hard  bondage  of  the  physical  senses  is 
escaped,  where  the  grossness  of  material  things  gives 
place  to  illimitable  freedom  and  ethereal  charm — to  the 
noble  potency  of  philosophy,  the  serenity  of  things  spir- 
itual— to  the  joyonsness  of  lightly-flitting  fancy,  and 
the  boundless  marvels  of  imagination. 

In  the  Seventeenth  Century  a  few  great  minds  formu- 
lated the  essential  principles  of  knowledge.  Thereby 
men  speedily  discovered  the  secrets  of  physical  forces, 
whose  command  has  gone  far  to  create  a  general  con- 
dition of  material  comfort.  Bacon,  Descartes  and  others 
taught  men  the  right  use  of  the  understanding.  Their 
mighty  intellectual  impulse  fertilized  all  succeeding  gen- 
erations of  minds,  created  the  world  of  science,  and 
infinitely  broadened  the  field  of  education. 

Thus,  as  the  barriers  of  ignorance  and  poverty  have 
been  overthrown  by  the  force  of  rightly  directed  intelli- 
gence, the  portals  of  the  world  of  books — once  sacred  to 
the  scholar  and  inaccessible  to  the  generality — have 
swung  wide  that  all  mankind  may  freely  enter  into  the 
enchanted  land,  to  hold  delightful  discourse  with  the 
living  thoughts  of  noble  minds.  Here,  at  last,  the  true 
perspective  of  life  appears,  the  material  concerns  which 
have  filled  all  our  horizon  shrink  to  their  real  propor- 
tions, we  stand  amazed  at  their  littleness,  their  barren- 
ness, their  poverty  in  all  that  is  graceful,  beautiful, 
ennobling,  uplifting.    We  gaze  beyond  them,  and  behold ! 


GENERAL  PREFACE 

before  us  are  endless  vistas  of  enchantment,  radiant  with 
the  elusive  tints  of  fancy,  glorious  with  the  ethereal 
beauties  of  imagination — a  new  and  entrancing  world, 
impalpable  to  the  deadened  senses  of  those  in  bondage 
to  material  things,  palpable  and  real  to  the  finer  spiritual 
senses. 

The  "Classic  Library"  represents  only  the  literature  of 
imagination  and  fancy — the  powerful  imaginings  of  the 
great  romancers  and  novelists,  the  beautiful  fancies  of 
great  poets.  It  is  the  outcome  of  a  chastening 
process  of  selection,  not  formal  or  premeditated,  but 
possibly  more  drastic.  It  represents  the  "survival  of  the 
fittest,"  the  consensus  of  many  minds,  and  not  merely 
the  personal  opinion  of  a  single  mind.  Real  book-lovers 
are  always  critical  and  usually  discriminating.  They 
have  many  friends  among  books  to  whom  they  are 
drawn  by  some  positive  literary  quality — by  intellectual 
strength,  imagination,  beauty  of  diction,  dramatic  power. 
Many  book-lovers  have  suggested  their  favorite  stories 
to  the.  Editor  of  the  "Classic  Library."  Many  others 
have  critically  discussed  the  merits  or  demerits  of  the 
selections.  The  critics  include  men-of-letters  with  whom 
literary  criticism  is  a  pursuit,  and  book-lovers  of  culti- 
vated tastes  and  wide  acquaintance  with  literature. 
Hence  this  library  is  made  up  of  what  many  capable 
judges  deem  to  be  strong  and  worthy  literature,  dis- 
tinctive because  of  dramatic  force,  imaginative  quality 
or  beautiful  fancy. 


'<_■■  \^- 


m 


Portrait  of  Dr.  Rossiter  Johnson 


GENERAL  INTRODUCTION 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  LITERATURE 

THE  proverb  that  recognizes  literature  as  the  most 
durable  of  all  human  productions  is  almost  as  old 
as  literature  itself.  Every  individual  that  speaks 
the  language  in  which  it  is  written  may  perish  from  the 
earth,  and  the  mould  of  centuries  and  the  debris  of  for- 
gotten cities  be  heaped  over  the  records;  but  in  the 
fullness  of  time  comes  a  Layard  with  his  spade,  and  a 
Rawlinson  with  his  skill,  and  somebody  stumbles  upon 
a  Rosetta  stone,  and  the  long-buried  story  is  trans- 
lated into  a  living  language  and  multiplied  in  thou- 
sands of  copies. 

"Which  would  you  rather  be,"  said  the  ancient  phi- 
losopher to  his  pupil,  "the  winner  at  the  Isthmian 
games  or  the  herald  who  announces  the  name  of  the 
winner?"  The  immediate  answer,  regarding  only  im- 
mediate advantage,  was  obvious;  but  in  the  largest 
sense  he  who  proclaims  and  pictures  worthy  deeds  is 
often  rewarded  with  quite  as  much  of  fame  as  the  doer 
himself.  Herodotus  is  more  a  living  and  breathing 
man  to  us  than  anyone  that  is  named  in  his  history; 
Homer  is  more  a  delight  than  his  own  Achilles;  we 
want  to  know  all  about  Cicero,  but  care  very  little 
about  the  men  for  or  against  whom  his  eloquence  was 
employed;  and  Macaulay's  wonderful  style  is  almost 
more  to  us  than  his  story. 


GENERAL  INTRODUCTION 

The  herald  may  be  a  mere  herald,  or  he  may  be 
the  inseparable  companion  of  his  hero;  it  all  depends 
on  his  style.  When  we  leave  the  wide  realm  of  history, 
and  enter  into  the  wider  realm  of  fiction,  this  phe- 
nomenon is  increased  a  hundredfold,  because  here  the 
hero  himself  is  created  by  his  herald,  and  his  deeds 
are  performed  only  in  the  imagination  of  the  trump- 
eter. Yet  here  I  speak  too  literally;  for  the  imagina- 
tion that  borrows  not  from  possibility  and  probability, 
from  experience  and  from  the  laws  of  nature,  is  of 
a  lower  and  fantastic  order.  Charles  Swain  saw  a  won- 
derful procession  of  ghosts  trailing  through  Dryburgh 
Abbey;  but  he  whom  they  bewailed  was  more  than  all 
together,  for  he  created  them  all.  So,  too,  Dickens 
walks  forever  at  the  head  of  his  procession,  and 
Balzac  leads  his,  and  Hugo  his,  and  Cooper  his.  And 
this,  again,  is  even  more  intensely  true  of  the  sub- 
jective writers,  like  Byron  and  Lamb  and  George 
Eliot,  whose  literary  families,  for  that  very  reason, 
are  smaller.  Byron,  writing  on  the  completion  of  his 
greatest  poem,  says:  "It  was  in  vain  that  I  asserted, 
and  imagined  that  I  had  drawn,  a  distinction  between 
the  author  and  the  pilgrim;  and  the  very  anxiety  to 
preserve  this  difference,  and  disappointment  at  finding 
it  unavailing,  so  far  crushed  my  efforts  in  the  compo- 
sition that  I  determined  to  abandon  it  altogether — and 
have  done  so." 

Written  letters  remain;  but  where  they  do  not  re- 
main, or  never  have  been  invented,  oral  tradition 
preserves  the  tale,  and  the  story-teller  is  the  hero  of 
the  fireside. 

In  literature,  an  apparent  crossing  of  the  branches 
will  sometimes  produce  not  only  the  most  pleasing, 
but  the  most  lasting,  effect.  The  historian  who  rises 
above  a  mere  chronicler  and  presents,  like  the  ro- 
mancer, a  pictured  page;  the  novelist  who  gives  to  his 


GENERAL  INTRODUCTION 

fancied  incidents  and  situations  the  appearance  of 
verity;  the  poet  who  seems  never  to  distort  truth  for 
the  sake  of  rhyme;  and  the  essayist  who  gives  his 
discourse  a  rhythm  of  its  own — all  these  receive  a 
peculiar  reward  in  the  commendation  of  the  critic  and 
the  fascination  of  the  reader. 

If  no  such  thing  as  a  fictitious  story  ever  had  been 
told,  one  might  make  a  very  plausible  argument  to 
prove  that  fiction  never  would  meet  with  popular  ac- 
ceptance. Let  us  imagine  that  it  had  not  yet  ap- 
peared in  any  literature.  A  man  with  a  large  head,  a 
remarkably  fine  face,  and  a  slight  limp  walks  into  the 
office  of  a  successful  and  intelligent  publisher,  and  in- 
quires as  to  the  disposition  of  a  manuscript  that  he  sub- 
mitted a  few  days  before.  "I  am  glad  to  see  vou,  Mr. 
Scott,"  says  the  publisher.  "I  read  your  manuscript  my- 
self, and  was  intensely  interested  by  it,  and  I  am  eager 
to  publish  it.  But,  pray,  where  did  you  find  the  story? 
I  am  pretty  well  read  in  history,  and  I  remember  noth- 
ing like  it.  What  unknown  chronicle  have  you  dis- 
covered?" "None  at  all,"  answers  Mr.  Scott,  "except 
in  my  imagination.  I  have  drawn  the  whole  narra- 
tive from  my  brain."  "What!''  says  the  publisher, 
"do  you  mean  to  say  that  these  things  which  you  have 
told  so  vividly  never  happened — that  this  is  not  true?" 
"Literally  speaking,"  answers  the  author,  "it  is  not 
true.  But  I  have  tried  to  make  it  what  might  be 
called  true  to  nature.  Nothing  is  related  that  might 
not  have  happened — nothing  that  would  not  follow 
naturally  and  logically  from  the  supposed  conditions. 
And  I  hope  it  is  not  only  interesting  for  its  incidents, 
but  instructive  by  suggestion."  "Dear  me!"  says  the 
publisher.  "And  so  it  is  all  fiction — a  mere  figment 
of  the  fancy — a  relation  of  events  that  never  occurred! 
What  a  pity!  If  it  were  history,  even  though  told  a 
little  one-sidedly,  I   should  be  glad  to  bring  it  out; 


GENERAL   INTRODUCTION 

but,  as  it  is,  I  cannot  think  of  it.  The  reviewers — 
sharp  fellows  that  they  are! — would  discover  the  cheat 
and  glory  in  exposing  it,  and  the  reputation  of  this 
publishing  house  would  be  ruined.  In  fact,  we  should 
not  even  make  anything  on  the  book  itself;  for  when 
buyers  discovered  its  true  character  they  would  re- 
turn it  and  demand  their  money." 

That  no  such  conversation  ever  was  heard,  and  no 
such  rejection  ever  took  place,  is  due  perhaps  to  the 
fact  that  before  the  day  of  alphabets  the  romancer 
came  into  direct  contact  with  his  public,  v/ithout  the 
intervention  of  a  publisher.  The  tales  that  were  told 
in  the  twilight  or  about  the  camp-fire  found  eager  lis- 
teners, who  did  not  care  to  inquire  into  their  histor- 
ical accuracy,  and  demonstrated  that  there  was  a 
good  market  for  fiction.  The  young  men  of  a  tribe, 
when  they  went  out  for  fish  and  game,  were  aware 
that  he  would  be  most  welcome  who  brought  back 
the  heaviest  string,  but  they  knew  also  that  he  would 
be  a  good  second  who  could  tell  the  largest  story. 
Hence  the  present  character  of  those  tales. 

The  fables  of  ^sop  and  Pilpay  come  down  to  us 
from  a  remote  antiquity  as  the  earliest  and  simplest 
exarnples  of  what  we  now  know  as  the  moral  tale, 
teaching  an  obvious  and  indisputable  lesson.  The 
Book  of  Job,  which  probably  is  of  even  higher  an- 
tiquity, sets  the  earliest  example  of  a  didactic  drama. 
The  stories  that  are  told  only  for  the  story's  sake, 
as  entertainment  pure  and  simple,  originated  some- 
what later.  We  do  not  know  the  first  date  of  the 
"Arabian  Nights,"  or  the  romance  of  "Antar";  but 
v/e  do  know  that  they  have  long  been  a  popular 
possession,  and  as  they  are  repeated  over  and  over 
again  in  the  coffee-houses,  every  raconteur  who  has 
sufficient  invention  to  add  a  new  tale  to  the  number 
feels   at  liberty  to   do   so.     Here   we  have   the   early 


GENERAL   INTRODUCTION 

development  of  plot  and  incident,  with  hardly  more 
in  the  way  of  character  than  broad  outlines  of  two 
qualities — cunning  and  simplicity. 

When  we  come  to  the  legends  of  the  North  Amer- 
ican Indians,  which  were  first  gathered  by  School- 
craft, and  afterward  were  used  so  effectively  by  Long- 
fellow in  his  "Hiawatha,"  we  have  less  of  plot,  but 
we  find  a  portrayal  of  some  of  the  finer  lights  and 
shades  of  human  character  such  as  the  Arabian  story- 
tellers either  never  thought  of  or  never  took  the  trouble 
to  delineate.  And  these  legends  also  make  use  of  dumb 
animals  as  rational  beings,  not  always  so  logical  as 
in  ^sop's  pages,  but  often  more  picturesque. 

When  we  come  to  the  folk-lore  of  our  Southern  ne- 
groes— much  more  recently  put  into  print,  though  in- 
herited from  remote  African  ancestors — we  find  that 
we  have  gone  backward  in  the  matter  of  narrative  de- 
velopment here ;  for  here  the  dramatis  personcB  are  ani- 
mals almost  exclusively,  exhibiting  only  the  quali- 
ties of  the  human  beings  in  the  Arabian  tales — cun- 
ning and  simplicity — with  hardly  an  indication  that  the 
stories  have  received  any  addition  or  modification  as 
they  have  been  repeated  from  generation  to  genera- 
tion through  the  centuries.  A  child  likes  to  hear  a  fa- 
vorite story  many  times,  but  wishes  it  to  be  told  in 
exactly  the  same  way  at  each  repetition.  And  that 
race  is  in  its  childhood,  as  is  shown  in  many  ways. 

The  favorite  tales  of  old  Japan,  though  modern  com- 
pared with  the  earliest  Arabian,  are  yet  several  cen- 
turies old.  They  have  fierceness  and  cunning  at  the 
core,  but  these  are  accompanied  by  love  and  fidelity 
and  loyalty,  and  some  of  the  softer  graces  that  char- 
acterize the  modern  literature  of  most  civilized  na- 
tions. The  island  kingdom  of  Japan  is  geographically 
related  to  the  continent  of  Asia  almost  exactly  as  the 
British  kingdom  is   related  to   Europe,   with   an   area 


GENERAL   INTRODUCTION 

somewhat  larger,  but  stretching  north  and  south  and 
having  similar  varieties  of  climate.  And  the  Japanese, 
in  their  rapid  development  through  the  past  forty 
years,  have  shown  many  traits  similar  to  those  of  the 
British  race. 

The  earliest  literature  of  a  civilized  people  is  almost 
always  poetry — or,  at  least,  the  earliest  that  survives. 
This  may  be  due  to  the  fact  that  legends  in  the  ordinary 
form  of  prose  may  be  repeated  from  mouth  to  mouth 
by  anyone  who  has  heard  them  and  remembers  their 
substance — no  exact  form  of  words  being  necessar>'. 
But  when  some  genius  has  put  them  into  verse,  the 
form  becomes  an  essential  feature,  and  then  they  are 
either  learned  so  as  to  be  repeated  literally  or  are 
reduced  to  writing,  and  in  either  event  they  at  once 
take  their  place  as  literature.  Chaucer,  the  "morning 
star  of  English  poetry,"  wrote  his  immortal  "Canter- 
bury Tales"  in  verse  near  the  end  of  the  Fourteenth 
Century,  and  about  a  hundred  years  later  Sir  Thomas 
Malory  collected  from  various  sources  the  legends  of 
King  Arthur  and  gave  them  definite  form  as  continuous 
narratives,  making  a  story  that  Walter  Scott  pro- 
nounced "the  best  prose  romance  the  language  can 
boast."  Sir  Walter  modestly  left  his  own  great  works 
out  of  the  account — and  there  most  of  us  would  dis- 
agree with  him.  In  our  own  day  Malory's  legends 
have  been  worked  up  in  blank  verse  by  Tennyson. 
The  first  four — published  in  1859,  under  the  title,  "Idyls 
of  the  King" — are  among  his  finest  productions;  the 
others,  which  he  appears  to  have  written  mainly  for 
the  purpose  of  exhausting  the  material,  cannot  be 
ranked  so  high. 

We  have  to  pass  over  another  hundred  years  in  the 
history  of  our  literature,  with  little  to  note,  and  then, 
at  the  close  of  the  Sixteenth  Century,  we  come  upon 
Shakespeare  in  mid-career  with  his  unequalled  dramas. 


GENERAL  INTRODUCTION 

To  a  boy,  they  are  a  delight  merely  for  their  stories, 
and  it  is  probably  a  mistake  to  suppose  that  he  must 
have  these  extracted  and  paraphrased  by  another  hand. 
Charles  Lamb  did  it  as  well  as  it  could  be  done  in  his 
"Tales  from  Shakespeare,"  but  his  book  never  has  had 
much  success,  and  if  it  had  been  done  by  anyone 
less  known  than  Lamb  it  probably  would  have  had 
none  at  all.  The  boy  loves  better  to  think  he  is  delv- 
ing in  the  original  mine.  When  he  is  somewhat  older 
he  begins  to  discover  other  riches  than  the  mere  plot, 
and  to  revel  in  the  poetry  and  comprehend  the  philos- 
ophy. Still  later,  if  his  bent  is  toward  the  creation 
of  literature,  and  he  feels  the  impulse  of  ambition, 
contemplation  of  the  great  dramatist  produces  a  feel- 
ing of  depression,  perhaps  of  despair,  when  he  con- 
siders that  that  mighty  structure  of  wisdom,  humor, 
pathos,  poetry  and  dramatic  power  must  forever  tower 
above  anything  that  any  other  literary  genius  can  hope 
to  raise.  After  a  time,  as  his  education  proceeds  and 
his  reading  widens,  he  comes  upon  the  half-dozen 
thick  volumes  of  "Shakespeare's  Library,"  wherein  the 
industrious  Hazlitt,  enlarging  upon  the  work  of  Nich- 
ols and  Collier,  has  gathered  all  the  "plays,  romances, 
novels,  poems,  and  histories  employed  by  Shakespeare 
in  the  composition  of  his  works."  Here  he  learns  that 
there  was  a  "Makbeth"  before  Shakespeare's  "Mac- 
beth," and  a  "Romeus  and  luliet"  and  a  "Historic  of 
Hamblet"  and  a  "Taming  of  a  Shrew"  and  a  "History 
of  Leir  and  His  Three  Daughters"  and  a  "True  Trag- 
edy of  Richard  3"  and  a  "Troublesome  Raigne  of 
King  John"  and  a  story  "Of  a  Jew  who  would  for  his 
debt  have  a  pound  of  the  flesh  of  a  Christian."  Then 
'the  young  man,  having  the  infirmity  which  all  men 
suflfer,  but  none  confess,  takes  heart  again  when  it  ap- 
pears that  the  greatest  of  all  mortal  creators  built 
upon  foundations  laid  down  by  others,  and  was  not  so 


GENERAL  INTRODUCTION 

great  after  all.  But  still  another  revulsion  awaits  him; 
for  when  he  has  read  the  old  plan's  and  stories,  and 
compared  them  with  Shakespeare's  version,  he  finds 
how  immeasurably  superior  the  artist  was  to  his  mate- 
rials— what  a  vast  difference  there  is  between  a  dia- 
mond in  the  mine  and  the  same  stone  as  it  leaves  the 
hand  of  the  lapidary.  But  this  is  a  poor  simile,  when 
applied  to  a  genius  who  not  only  brought  out  all  that 
was  good  in  the  ancient  tales,  but  put  into  them  such 
wisdom,  romance,  moving  power  and  secrets  of  human 
nature  as  the  original  narrators  never  dreamed  of. 
Read  this  from  the  old  poem  of  "Romeus  and  luliet," 
by  Arthur  Broke: 

"  An  Apothecary  sate  unbusied  at  his  doore. 

Whom  by  his  heavy  countenaunce  he  gessed  to  be 

poore, 
And  in  his  shop  he  saw  his  boxes  were  but  fewe, 
And  in  his  window  (of  his  wares)  there  was  so  small 

a  shew, 
Wherefore  our  Romeus  assuredly  hath  thought, 
What  by   no   frendship   could   be    got,    with    money 

should  be  bought. 
For  nedy  lacke  is  like  the  poore  man  to  compell, 
To  sell  that  which  the  cities  lawe  forbiddeth  him  to 

sell. 
Then  by  the  hand  he  drew  the  nedy  man  apart, 
And  with  the  sight  of  glittring  gold  inflamed  hath 

his  hart. 
Take  fiftie  crownes  of  gold  (quoth  he)  I  geve  them 

thee, 
So    that   before    I    part    from     hence     thou     straight 

deliver   me 
Somme  poyson  strong,  that  may  in  lesse  than  halfe 

an  howre, 
Kill  him  whose  wretched  hap  shal  be  the  potion  to 

devowre. 
The  wretch  by  covetise  is  wonne,  and  doth  assent 
To  sell  the  thing,  whose  sale,  ere  long,  too  late  he 

doth  repent. 
In  hast  he  poyson  sought,  and  closely  he  it  bounde, 


GENERAL   INTRODUCTION 

And  then  began  with  whispering  voyce  thus  in  his 

eare  to  rounde, 
Fayre  syr   (quoth  he)   be  sure  this  is  the   speeding 

gere, 
And  more  there  is  then  you  shall  nede,  for  halfe  of 

that  is  there 
Will  serve,  I  undertake,  in  lesse  than  halfe  an  howre. 
To  kill  the  strongest  man  alive,  such  is  the  poysons 

power." 

And  then  read  Shakespeare's  famous  description  of 
the  apothecary  in  the  fifth  act  of  "Romeo  and  Juliet." 
Epigrams  and  flashes  of  wit  are  not  wanting  in  the 
older  productions — as  "loving  in  haste,  repent  thee  at 
leisure,"  and  "one  bird  in  the  hand  is  worth  two  in 
the  wood" — but  most  of  the  great  multitude  that  ap- 
pear in  Shakespeare's  work  are  his  own.  So  when 
the  mind  of  our  ingenuous  young  man  has  passed 
through  these  phases  and  arrived  at  this  knowledge,  he 
tells  himself  that  he  would  rather  have  this  immortal 
poet  for  a  life-long  companion  than  that  he  should 
have  left  his  works  unwritten,  to  the  improbable  chance 
that  another  as  great  as  he  would  ever  arise,  or  that  a 
dozen  others  would  ever  be  able  among  them  to  ef- 
fect the  same  creations.  The  despair  of  literary  aspi- 
ration is  lost  in  the  love  of  literature. 

When  we  are  with  Shakespeare,  we  have  to  think 
also  of  his  generous  friend,  Ben  Jonson,  whose  plays 
might  have  been  considered  great  but  for  their  greater 
contemporaries;  and  of  Sir  Philip  Sydney,  the  per- 
petual model  for  young  manhood,  with  his  "Arcadia"; 
and  of  Sir  Walter  Raleigh,  connected  as  an  explorer 
and  colonist  with  the  early  history  of  our  own  coun- 
try, and  his  unfinished  "History  of  the  World";  and 
of  Francis  Bacon,  with  his  bright  literary  work  and 
his  pitiful  personal  record;  and  of  Edmund  Spenser, 
with  his  "Faerie  Queene,"  which  nobody  now  can 
read,  but  which  nobody  dares  to  omit  from  the  list  of 


GENERAL  INTRODUCTION 

Standard  poems;  and  of  the  Earl  of  Surrey,  with  his 
pretty  lyrics. 

Dropping  down  the  stream  of  time  through  the  pleas- 
ant places  of  another  century,  we  come  to  Milton  in 
his  old  age,  Dryden  in  his  prime,  and  Pope  in  his 
boyhood.  Milton's  work  for  freedom,  with  his  sturdy 
and  powerful  prose,  was  done  in  his  earlier  years,  and 
at  that  time,  too,  his  shorter  poems  were  written,  but 
his  two  long  poems  were  the  production  of  his  old 
age.  In  spite  of  the  sentiment  that  has  gathered  round 
"Paradise  Lost,"  his  finest  work  is  the  "Areopagitica," 
which  he  calls  "a  speech  for  the  liberty  of  unlicensed 
printing."  Not  the  general  power  of  argument  alone, 
but  a  genius  for  epigrammatic  expression  of  an  in- 
disputable proposition,  shines  out  in  that  immortal 
essay:  "Who  knows  not  that  truth  is  strong,  next  to 
the  Almighty?"  "When  the  new  light  which  we  beg 
for  shines  in  upon  us,  there  be  who  envy  and  op- 
pose if  it  come  not  first  in  at  their  casements."  "We 
boast  our  light,  but  if  we  look  not  wisely  on  the  sun 
itself  it  smites  us  into  darkness."  "Paradise  Lost"  has 
met  with  the  most  diverse  criticism,  both  in  Milton's 
day  and  in  our  own.  The  poet  Edmund  Waller,  a  con- 
temporary of  the  author,  wrote:  "The  old  blind 
schoolmaster,  John  Milton,  hath  written  a  tedious 
poem  on  the  fall  of  man;  which,  if  its  great  length  be 
not  accounted  for  a  merit,  it  hath  no  other."  But 
Macaulay,  at  the  age  of  twenty-five,  began  his  brilliant 
series  of  essays  with  an  elaborate  eulogy  on  that  work 
in  which  Waller  could  discover  nothing  but  tedious- 
ness.  Nearly  half  a  century  later,  Taine,  the  historian 
of  English  literature,  while  highly  appreciating  Mil- 
ton's personal  character,  expends  all  his  wit  in  dis- 
praise of  "Paradise  Lost"  and  some  of  the  prose 
works.  "This  Adam,"  he  says,  "entered  Paradise  via 
England.     There  he  learned  respectability,   and  there 


GENERAL  INTRODUCTION 

he  Studied  moral  speechifying."  Milton  told  Dryden 
that  Spenser  was  his  master;  but  his  familiarity  with 
the  Greek  and  Latin  classics  led  to  an  almost  slavish 
imitation  of  them,  which  has  produced  the  most  notable 
fault  in  his  style,  for  which  he  was  condemned  by  Dr. 
Johnson. 

Dryden  wrote  plays  in  rhyme,  which  are  long  since 
forgotten,  became  poet-laureate,  changed  his  politics 
and  his  religion  to  suit  the  court,  produced  absurd  alle- 
gories and  foolish  satires,  modernized  some  of 
Chaucer's  tales,  and  finally  made  an  imperishable  trans- 
lation of  Virgil's  ".Eneid."  His  original  work  is  little 
read  now,  but  he  holds  a  conventional  place  in  our 
literature. 

The  strangest  character  among  the  lettered  men  of 
that  day,  or  perhaps  of  any  day,  was  Jonathan  Swift. 
His  Gulliver  is  one  of  the  famous  figures  in  fiction, 
whose  narrative  was  written  as  a  satire  on  the  incred- 
ible tales  of  travelers  in  distant  lands;  but  it  is  doubtful 
if  most  of  its  readers  now  are  not  children  who  delight 
in  the  mere  grotesquerie.  Addison  was  but  five  years 
younger  than  Swift,  and  presents  a  striking  contrast. 
His  tragedy  of  "Cato"  was  produced  on  the  stage  with 
great  success,  which  was  largely  owing  to  the  fact  that 
while  the  public  assumed  that  it  must  have  a  political 
bearing,  this,  if  it  existed  at  all,  was  so  ambiguous 
that  both  Whigs  and  Tories  claimed  it.  His  more  last- 
ing work  was  his  "Spectator,"  a  periodical  filled  with 
short  essays,  sometimes  serious  and  sometimes  humor- 
ous, but  for  the  most  part  written  with  a  light  and 
graceful  touch.  Johnson  uttered  the  famous  dictum 
that  anyone  who  wished  to  acquire  an  elegant  English 
style  must  spend  his  days  and  nights  with  Addison. 
Possibly  there  was  some  truth  in  the  remark  when  it 
was  made;  but  our  literature  has  since  been  enriched 
by  essayists   who   far   surpass   Addison   both  in   style 


GENERAL   INTRODUCTION 

and  in  matter.  In  truth,  he  had  not  much  to  say, 
though  he  always  expressed  himself  pleasantly.  He 
had  many  collaborators  in  the  "Spectator,"  which  is 
still  kept  regularly  in  print.  His  best  essays,  the  Sir 
Roger  de  Coverley  series,  are  often  printed  by  them- 
selves, and  Sir  Roger  walks  in  the  procession  of  im- 
mortal characters. 

Dr.  Young's  "Night  Thoughts,"  expressed  in  solemn 
alank  verse,  were  a  great  advance  on  anything  of  the 
;cind  that  had  gone  before.  They  seem  a  little  heavy, 
in  spite  of  their  correctness  and  often  stately  move- 
ment, and  would  probably  have  gone  to  oblivion  were 
it  not  for  their  many  epigrammatic  and  striking  pas- 
sages. Some  of  these  have  become  classic  as  quota- 
tions, and  they  keep  the  long  poem  in  print  and  are 
probably  the  chief  cause  of  its  being  translated  into 
many  languages. 

There  was  another  writer  in  the  middle  of  the  Sev- 
enteenth Century,  who  never  is  mentioned  by  any 
of  these,  and  probably  was  hardly  known  to  them, 
who  produced  a  unique  work  that  has  far  surpassed 
all  theirs  in  popularity  and  is  said  to  have  been  trans- 
lated into  more  languages  than  any  book  except  the 
Bible.  He  was  but  moderately  educated  and  was  a 
tinker  by  trade,  a  preacher  by  choice,  and  a  philan- 
thropist by  habit.  He  spent  twelve  years  in  jail,  put 
there  by  the  authorities  because  he  would  not  refrain 
from  preaching  as  a  non-conformist;  and  at  the  age 
of  fifty  he  produced  his  "Pilgrim's  Progress  from  This 
World  to  That  Which  is  to  Come."  It  is  not  sur- 
prising that  when  Bunyan  showed  the  manuscript  to  his 
friends  they  were  utterly  unable  to  judge  of  it,  had  the 
most  diverse  opinions,  and  made  the  wildest  criti- 
cisms. If  it  were  offered  to  the  publishing  houses 
that  are  doing  business  now,  it  would  probably  be  re- 
jected by  most  if  not  all  of  them.     Indeed,  it  is  one 


GENERAL  INTRODUCTION 

of  the  unique  things  that  occasionally  appear  in  liter- 
ature, the  fate  of  which  cannot  be  predicted. 

When  we  arrive  at  Pope,  who  was  sixteen  years 
younger  than  Addison,  we  perceive  a  turn  in  the  cur- 
rent of  English.  He  puts  his  mind  upon  questions  of 
casuistry,  displays  a  perfect  command  of  the  art  of 
versification,  with  great  skill  in  the  construction  of 
antithetical  passages,  and  produces  moral  essays  in 
flowing  verse,  which  have  an  immediate  success  and 
captivate  the  reader's  ear  at  once,  before  his  critical 
sense  has  time  to  act.  When  this  comes  into  play,  they 
lose  their  popularity,  and  after  a  time  the  question  is 
seriously  discussed  whether  Pope  was  a  poet  at  all. 
It  is  only  a  case  of  the  swing  of  the  pendulum  to 
opposite  extremes.  All  his  moral  essays  may  be  can- 
celled from  his  writings,  and  enough  of  noble  poetry 
will  be  left  to  prove  his  claim.  Yet  the  best  service 
he  rendered  was  in  his  translation  of  the  "Iliad,"  which 
has  shown  a  stronger  hold  on  life  than  all  his  other 
work.  It  has  been  criticised  for  its  lack  of  literalness; 
but,  whether  we  call  it  Homer's  "Iliad"  or  Pope's 
"Iliad,"  it  remains  the  one  readable  English  version  of 
that  great  story. 

Samuel  Richardson,  who  has  been  called  "the  in- 
ventor of  the  English  novel,"  was  contemporary  with 
Pope.  Perhaps  the  explanation  of  his  inventing  may 
be  found  in  his  own  account  of  his  boyhood.  When 
he  was  thirteen  years  old  he  used  to  be  called  to  read 
to  a  sewing-circle  of  young  ladies.  "Three  of  these 
young  women,"  he  says,  "having  a  high  opinion  of  mj- 
taciturnity,  revealed  to  me  their  love  secrets,  in  order 
to  induce  me  to  give  them  copies  to  write  after,  or 
correct,  for  answers  to  their  lovers'  letters;  nor  did 
any  of  them  ever  know  that  I  was  the  secretary  of 
the  others.  I  have  been  directed  to  chide,  and  even 
repulse,  when  an  offence  was  either  taken  or  given,  at 


GENERAL  INTRODUCTION 

the  very  time  that  the  heart  of  the  chider  or  repulser 
was  open  before  me,  overflowing  with  esteem  and  af- 
fection, and  the  fair  repulser,  dreading  to  be  taken  at 
her  word,  directing  this  or  that  expression  to  be 
softened  or  changed."  This  experience,  with  the  sug- 
gestion of  a  friend,  was  what  led  him  to  the  idea  of  a 
long  story  told  in  familiar  letters.  Richardson  was  a 
printer  and  stationer  in  London  and  considered  his 
novel-writing  as  a  mere  incident.  His  novels — "Pame- 
la," "Clarissa  Harlowe"  and  "Sir  Charles  Grandison" 
— had  an  immediate  and  wonderful  success,  were  praised 
from  the  pulpit  and  read  by  everybody.  They  passed 
through  a  time  of  violent  and  contradictory  criticism, 
and  finally  they  were  driven  out  by  the  shorter,  livelier 
and  more  artistic  stories  of  his  successors.  They  may 
still  be  found  on  the  shelves  of  public  libraries,  where 
they  are  seldom  reported  as  "out." 

If  Richardson  was  the  inventor  of  the  English  novel, 
Henry  Fielding  so  far  improved  it  (in  all  except 
moral  tone)  that  he  almost  becomes  the  originator. 
He  was  born  eighteen  years  later  than  Richardson, 
and  died  seventeen  years  earlier;  but  in  his  short 
life  of  forty-six  years,  wherein  he  was  the  very  oppo- 
site of  Richardson  in  morality  and  thrift,  he  produced 
novels  that  set  the  pattern  for  all  romancers  who  have 
come  after  him,  though  they  are  marred  by  features 
that  none  would  copy  now.  Even  a  careless  read- 
ing of  "Tom  Jones"  inevitably  suggests  that  Field- 
ing was  Dickens's  master. 

Another  contemporary  of  these  writers  was  a  man 
with  a  stranger  and  more  varied  career  than  either. 
He  wrote  scores  of  books,  a  few  of  which  survive,  and 
one  of  which  appears  to  possess  some  principle  of  life 
that  gives  it  an  unwavering  popularity  like  that  of 
"Pilgrim's  Progress,"  though  in  all  other  respects  the 
two  books  are  as  different  as  a  forest  and  a  rainbow. 


GENERAL   INTRODUCTION 

This  was  Daniel  Defoe,  author  of  "Robinson  Cru- 
soe," a  book  that  was  abused  in  its  day,  not  because 
of  its  literary  character,  but  because  of  its  author's 
politics.  His  severe  satires  offended  the  Tories,  and 
some  of  them  were  condemned  to  be  burned  by  the 
hangman.  He  was  driven  from  his  business,  and  was 
imprisoned  for  two  years,  and  finally  he  could  write 
of  himself: 

"  No  man  has  tasted  different  fortunes  more, 
And  thirteen  times  I  have  been  rich  and  poor." 

This  was  the  author  who  invented  the  realistic 
novel,  as  distinguished  from  the  romance.  Two  er- 
rors concerning  "Robinson  Crusoe"  appear  to  be  per- 
sistent, in  spite  of  the  fact  that  everybody  reads  it. 
One  is  that  the  book  is  intended  as  a  juvenile;  the 
other,  that  its  scene  is  the  island  of  Juan  Fernandez, 
in  the  Pacific.  It  is  plainly  pointed  out  in  the  orig- 
inal title-page  and  in  the  book  itself  that  the  scene 
is  on  an  imaginary  island  in  the  Caribbean  Sea,  near 
the  mouth  of  the  Orinoco.  But  Alexander  Selkirk 
was  left  on  Juan  Fernandez,  and  the  political  opponents 
of  Defoe  accused  him  of  stealing  Selkirk's  story:  hence 
the  error. 

The  mid-portion  of  the  Eighteenth  Century  pro- 
duced still  a  different  author  of  light  literature,  whose 
work  is  apparently  immortal.  This  was  Oliver  Gold- 
smith, poet,  dramatist,  essayist,  and  novelist.  His 
"Vicar  of  Wakefield"  is  kept  alive  in  many  editions, 
his  "Traveller"  and  "Deserted  Village"  are  in  all  the 
anthologies,  and  "She  Stoops  to  Conquer"  has  not 
left  the  stage.  He,  too,  like  Defoe,  was  unfortunate 
in  the  business  conduct  of  life,  and  died  heavily  in 
debt.  This  appears  to  be  the  uniform  penalty  for 
versatility.     Know  one  thing,  know  it  well,  and  know 


GENERAL   INTRODUCTION 

little  else,  looks  like  the  surest  prescription  for  suc- 
cess— if  success  means  a  bank  account. 

As  we  pass  over  from  the  Eighteenth  Century  to 
the  Nineteenth,  we  observe  the  rising  of  that  brilliant 
galaxy  which  included  Byron,  Wordsworth,  Moore, 
Shelley,  Keats,  Campbell  and  Lamb  —  a  wonderful 
poetic  revival,  forming  a  new  school  wherein  the  lyric 
spirit  pervaded  all  the  verse.  They  delivered  their 
burden  and  passed  away,  Moore  and  Wordsworth  lin- 
gering in  old  age  long  after  the  others.  And  then  arose 
a  new  group — Macaulay,  the  essayist  and  historian,  at 
once  ponderous  and  brilliant;  Dickens,  the  humorist 
and  depicter  of  humble  life;  Thackeray,  humorist  as 
well,  but  almost  the  antipodes  of  Dickens  as  a  story- 
teller; Tennyson,  the  lyrist  of  exquisite  touch,  infinite 
pains,  and  apparent  perfection;  and  Browning,  cer- 
tainly the  most  enigmatical  of  all  poets,  but  perhaps 
also  the  deepest  of  all  philosophers. 

With  these  rises  a  star  in  the  West,  our  own 
Irving,  producing  essays  that  never  lose  their  simple 
charm,  writing  idyls  in  prose  and  inventing,  or  at 
least  introducing,  the  short  story — that  species  of  lit- 
erature in  which  his  successors  among  his  country- 
men have  surpassed  all  others.  I  do  not  forget 
Dickens's  Christmas  tales  and  the  dog  stories  of  Ouida 
and  Dr.  Brown;  but  the  unique  stories  of  Poe  and 
Hawthorne,  Hale's  "Man  Without  a  Country,"  Harte's 
"Outcasts"  and  "Luck  of  Roaring  Camp,"  and  the  fine 
work  of  some  of  our  later  writers,  must  still  stand  at 
the  head  in  this  class. 

"All  print  is  open  to  you,"  said  Mr.  Bofifin  plaintively 
to  Mr.  Wegg,  because  Wegg  could  read,  while  Bofifin 
could  not.  But  Boffin  was  able  to  buy  books,  and  Wegg 
was  not;  so  it  required  the  resources  of  both  to  open 
a  vista  into  the  great  world  of  literature.  The  suc- 
cessive improvements  in  paper  and  printing  machinery 

xxvlii 


GENERAL  INTRODUCTION. 

have  brought  Hterature  nearer  and  nearer  to  the  means 
of  the  poor,  while  the  common  school  has  been  light- 
ing the  way  for  the  ignorant.  We  have  now  arrived  at 
a  time  when  every  home  wherein  is  reasonable  thrift, 
however  small  its  income,  may  have  its  own  library, 
and  thus  invite  the  great  men  of  ages  past  to  make 
themselves  familiar  at  its  board. 


_  /\^^iuJ^Ze^  ^/c^ttcci^^fi^^ . 


CRITICAL   SYNOPSIS 
OF   SELECTIONS 


CRITICAL  SYNOPSIS   OF 
SELECTIONS 


Balaklava:     By  William  Howard  Russell. 

In  the  early  'fifties,  fanatical  Turks  were  in- 
censed by  the  toleration  of  the  rites  of  the  Greek 
Church  in  the  holy  places  of  Islam.  The  Pa- 
triarch appealed  to  the  Czar  of  Russia,  the  head  of 
the  Greek  Catholic  Hierarchy.  The  Czar  deter- 
mined to  relight  the  Sacred  Lamp  that  for  cen- 
turies had  burned  unquenched  before  the  Holy 
Sepulcher,  and  incidentally  to  secure  future  tolera- 
tion by  annexing  a  large  part  of  Turkey.  The 
Crimean  War  resulted.  France  and  England  came 
to  the  Sultan's  aid.  The  allies  sent  fleets  into  the 
Black  Sea,  invaded  the  Crimea,  and  made  the  port 
of  Balaklava  their  base  of  operations.  The  Rus- 
sians attacked  them  in  force,  and  the  first  great 
battle  of  the  war  followed.  The  combat  was  fierce 
but  short.  Those  were  still  the  days  of  short- 
range  muskets,  of  hand-to-hand  combats  with 
bayonet,  lance  and  saber,  of  brilliant  charges  and 
desperate  personal  valor.  A  series  of  magnificent 
charges  by  the  English  cavalry  swept  away  the 
Russian  lines  almost  instantly.  One  of  these  has 
been  immortalized  by  Lord  Tennyson  in  "The 
Charge  of  the  Light  Brigade." 

As  a  spectacle,  the  battle  was  one  of  the  most 
brilliant  and  exciting  in  history.  Seldom  is  so 
grand  a  sight  described  with  such  fire  and  anima- 
tion as  imbue  William  Howard  Russell's  account 
of  the  battle  of  Balaklava,  reprinted  in  this  vol- 
ume. As  war  correspondent  for  the  London 
Times,  he  was  an  eye-witness  of  the  combat. 

Battle  of  Beal'  an  Duine,  The:    By  Sir  Waltet^ 
Scott. 
This   is   an    episode    from   the    poetic    romance, 


CRITICAL  SYNOPSIS  OF  SELECTIONS 

"The  Lady  of  the  Lake."  Roderick  Dhu,  Chief 
of  Clan  Alpine,  a  turbulent  Highland  tribe,  has 
refused  obedience  to  the  King  and  scorned  his 
clemency.  Roderick  engages  in  single  combat 
with  a  wandering  knight,  is  wounded,  disarmed 
and  made  captive.  His  clansmen  rise  in  revolt, 
the  King's  forces  are  sent  against  them,  they 
meet  at  Beal'  an  Duine,  and  Clan  Alpine  is  utterly 
destroyed. 

Cmsar  at  Alesia:     By   J.   A.    Froude. 

Of  all  the  numerous  biographies  of  the  great 
Roman,  none  is  more  lucid  and  interesting  than  that 
by  Froude.  Although  a  comprehensive  and  sym- 
metrical history,  the  author  modestly  entitles  it  "A 
Sketch."  The  capture  of  Alesia  by  Caesar  was  a  won- 
derful military  exploit.  With  50,000  Roman  soldiers 
he  blockaded  an  army  of  80.000  Gauls  in  the  citj'  of 
Alesia,  annihilated  a  second  army  of  more  than 
200,000  which  sought  to  relieve  the  beleaguered 
city,  and  effected  its  capture,  thereby  breaking  the 
barbarian  power. 

Downfall  of  the    Moors,  The:     By  Washington 
Irving. 

Washington  Irving's  "Conquest  of  Granada"  is 
sober  history;  but  it  is  history  in  the  guise  of 
fascinating  romance.  It  is  the  chronicle  of  chiv- 
alry and  knighthood,  of  valor  and  prowess,  of 
daring  forays,  hand-to-hand  combats,  of  sieges 
and  assaults,  of  hairbreadth  escapes.  From  this 
delightful  book,  several  episodes  have  been  se- 
lected. They  tell  how  Muley  Abul  Hassan,  a 
fierce  old  Moorish  warrior,  broke  the  peace  be- 
tween Moor  and  Christian;  how  in  the  darkness 
of  night,  amid  a  howling  tempest,  he  and  his  band 
scaled  the  precipices  of  Zahara,  the  impregnable, 
captured  the  strongest  fortress  in  Spain  without 
struggle,  cut  down  all  who  bore  arms  and  carried 
all  the  inhabitants  captive  to  Granada.  How  the 
Spanish  chivalry  were  driven  to  fury  by  the  in- 
sult, and  how  the  valiant  Marquis  of  Cadiz  took 
vengeance  upon  the  Moors  by  surprising  their 
city  of  Alhama,  far  across  the  Sierra  and  nigh  to 
Granada ;  he  took  it  by  assault,  made  slaves  of  all 


CRITICAL  SYNOPSIS  OF  SELECTIONS 

the  people,  secured  vast  plunder  of  great  worth. 
How,  having  fought  to  get  in,  he  fought  to  get 
out  again  and  could  not;  how  he  was  closely  be- 
sieged and  suffered  greatly  from  thirst  and  famine, 
until  relieved  by  the  Duke  of  Medina  Sidonia. 

The  capture  of  Zahara,  the  reprisal  of  Alhama 
— these  were  the  prologues  that  ushered  in  the  war 
that  drove  the  Moors  from  Spain 

Drums  of  the  Fore  and  Aft,  The:  By  Rudyard 
Kipling. 

This  is  one  of  the  strongest  of  Kipling's  stories. 
It  is  a  graphic  pen-picture  of  a  border  conflict  iij 
India.  England  holds  India  by  sleepless  vigilance 
along  the  frontier.  Along  the  northwest  border 
are  1,200  miles  of  rugged  mountain  wall,  pierced 
by  a  few  passes.  Within  striking  distance  of  each 
a  miniature  army  of  men  with  white  skins  and  red 
coats  awaits  a  call  to  service.  Mimic  wars  are 
frequent.  When  the  hillmen  rise,  they  must  be 
chastised,  for  to  surrender  the  passes  to  the  hill- 
men  is  to  admit  the  Russians,  who,  beyond  the 
mountain  barriers,  await  an  opportunity  to  de- 
scend upon  India. 

This  story  tells  how  the  distinguished  "Fore  and 
Fit"  regiment  of  British  infantry  (holding  a  long 
string  of  other  titles  bestowed  in  honor  of  a  German 
princeling)  lost  its  veterans  by  lapse  of  time,  and 
became  mainly  raw  recruits;  how  they  shrunk  be- 
fore a  wild  Afghan  "rush" — a  torrent  of  fierce  and 
fanatical  tribesmen,  reckless  of  death,  and  armed 
with  "tulwars,"  resembling  four-foot  razors;  how 
two  "tough"  little  drummer  boys  marched  steadily 
forward  to  their  death  beating  the  charge;  how 
the  shame  of  the  sight  stung  the  fleeing  regiment 
to  halt,  face  about  and  win  the  fight,  and  how  the 
regiment  was  thereafter  dubbed  the  "Fore-and- 
Aft." 

In  the  Land  of  the  Masai:  By  H.  Rider  Haggard. 
In  several  of  Haggard's  lurid  stories  of  Africa 
the  same  characters  reappear — Sir  Henry  Curtis 
and  Capt.  John  Good,  seeking  adventures  and 
sport;  Allan  Quatermain,  the  great  hunter,  and 
"one  Umslopogaas,''  a  giant  Zulu  chief,  driven 
from  his  land  by  the  fortunes  of  war. 


CRITICAL  SYNOPSIS  OF  SELECTIONS 


In  the  Story  called  "Allan  Quatermain,"  these 
worthies  journey  in  quest  of  fabled  cities  and 
strange  peoples,  and  on  the  borders  of  the  land 
of  the  Masai  they  rest  at  the  fortress-home  of  a 
missionary-pioneer.  They  have  been  followed  by 
the  Masai,  unseen.  Flossie,  the  little  daughter  of 
the  missionary,  unknowing  of  danger,  has  gone 
to  a  distant  plain  for  flowers,  and,  with  her  serv- 
ant, is  made  prisoner.  The  Masai  demand  the 
surrender  of  the  travelers  as  the  price  of  the  child's 
life.  Allan  Quatermain  himself  tells  the  story  of 
how  the  few  white  men  and  their  followers  as- 
saulted the  kraal  of  the  great  Masai  war-party  in 
the  dead  of  night,  of  the  desperate  fight,  the 
mighty  valor  of  Umslopogaas  and  Sir  Henry,  and 
the  rescue  of  the  little  maid. 

Ivry:     By   Lord   Macaulay. 

In  1590  there  had  been  civil  war  in  France  for 
thirty  years.  The  kingdom  was  torn  by  dis- 
sensions, intrigues,  factions.  Several  great  fam- 
ilies of  the  nobility  contended  for  supremacy.  Re- 
ligious rancor  embittered  political  strife.  The 
horror  of  St.  Bartholomew  was  but  the  type  of  a 
period  of  cruelty,  baseness  and  misery.  One  after 
another,  the  feeble,  cruel  and  treacherous  princes 
of  Valois,  Anjou  and  Lorraine  fell  by  disease, 
assassination  or  violence.  The  nation  longed  for 
peace;  all  factions  turned  toward  Henry,  King  of 
Navarre,  a  scion  of  the  royal  family  of  France,  a 
strong  man,  a  shrewd  politician,  and,  above  all, 
neither  cruel  nor  capricious.  Nominally  a  Hu- 
guenot, at  heart  tolerant  of  or  indifferent  to  all 
creeds,  Henry  stood  forth  as  the  great  champion 
of  toleration.  He  led  the  Huguenot  army  against 
the  Catholic  Leaguers  at  Ivry-la-Battaille.  inflicted 
a  crushing  defeat  upon  them  and  broke  their 
power.  Foreign  aid  enabled  the  League  to  pro- 
long the  contest,  but  the  victory  of  Ivry  was  the 
turning  point;  and  it  made  Henry  of  Navarre 
Henry  IV.  of  France.  Lord  Macaulay's  stirring 
ballad  is  one  of  several  famous  battle-songs. 

Picture  of  War,  A:    By  J.  A.  MacGahan. 

This    is    an    episode    from    "Campaigning    on 


CRITICAL  SYNOPSIS  OF  SELECTIONS 


the  Oxus."  a  graphic  account  of  travel  adven- 
ture and  war  in  Central  Asia.  In  the  early  seven- 
ties Russia  began  a  campaign  for  the  conquest  of 
the  vast  plain  lying  to  the  east  of  the  Caspian  Sea 
and  stretching  from  Siberia  to  Persia  and  Afghan- 
istan, peopled  by  fierce,  independent  tribes  of 
nomad  Turcomans. 

J.  A.  MacGahan  was  sent  to  Turkestan  by  the 
New  York  Herald  to  accompany  the  Russian  army. 
When  he  reached  the  army  rendezvous,  on  the 
northern  border.  General  Kaufman's  expedition 
had  been  three  weeks  gone  and  was  far  in  the 
interior.  MacGahan  hastened  forward,  only  to  be 
stopped  at  the  first  Russian  post  and  ordered  to 
return.  He  evaded  his  guards,  fled  into  the  track- 
less desert,  and  started  alone  upon  a  desperate 
journey  of  a  thousand  miles,  to  intercept  the  Rus- 
sian advance  and  view  the  assault  upon  Khiva. 

He  succeeded,  after  infinite  danger  and  hard- 
ship. The  capture  of  Khiva  was  followed  by  a 
campaign  against  the  more  southern  tribes.  How 
warfare  is  waged  against  barbarians  is  illustrated 
by  "A  Picture  of  War." 

Revolt  of  Lucifer,  The:     By  John  Milton. 

This  is  an  episode  or  abstract  from  Milton's 
sublime  epic,  "Paradise  Lost."  Satan,  the  fallen, 
once  Lucifer,  the  Angel  of  Light,  having  dis- 
covered Paradise  and  Adam  and  Eve  therein, 
tempts  them  to  sin,  for  despite  of  God,  by 
whom  he  was  cast  from  Heaven.  The  Arch- 
angel Raphael  is  despatched  to  warn  thern 
against  the  wiles  of  the  evil  one;  and  he  tells  them 
of  the  rebellion  of  the  angels,  led  by  Lucifer, 
their  war  against  the  Almighty,  their  overthrow 
by  the  angelic  hosts  led  by  the  Son,  and  the  ter- 
rible punishment  inflicted  upon  them. 

All  the  hosts  of  Heaven  were  summoned  by  the 
Father  to  do  homage  to  the  Son.  Lucifer,  first 
among  the  Archangels,  moved  with  envy  and 
pride,  secretly  inspired  others,  leaders  of  hosts, 
with  disafifection,  and  a  third  part  of  all  the  angels 
followed  his  standard,  raised  in  rebellion  against 
the  Lord.  Myriads  of  the  faithful  were  marshalled 
against  the  traitor  angels.     For  two  whole  days  a 


CRITICAL  SYNOPSIS  OF  SELECTIONS 

mighty  battle  raged,  to  the  end  that  on  the  third 
day  all  Heaven  might  see  and  know  how  far  the 
single  strength  of  the  Almighty  surpassed  that  of 
all  his  hosts.  Utter  ruin  fell  upon  the  revolted 
army  at  the  stroke  of  the  Divine  wrath.  They 
were  driven  in  panic  rout  to  the  bounds  of 
Heaven  and  thence  hurled  down  to  Hell. 

Service  of  Danger,  A:  By  Amelia  B.  Edwards. 
This  author  has  written  many  strong  stories  in 
which  the  supernatural  is  an  element.  The  story 
bearing  the  title  above  is  of  that  class.  It  is  a 
tale  of  Moreau's  Black  Forest  campaign  and  the 
battle  of  Hohenlinden,  wherein  the  ablest  of  Na- 
poleon's generals  inflicted  a  crushing  defeat  upon 
their  Austrian  foes.  The  young  Graf  von  Lich- 
tenstein  undertakes  a  service  of  danger — a  recon- 
naissance to  learn  the  movements  of  the  enemy — 
and  perishes,  with  all  his  troop. 

Waterloo:     By  Victor  Hugo. 

One  of  the  episodes  of  Victor  Hugo's  powerful 
romance.  "Les  Miserables,"  occurs  on  the  battle- 
field of  Waterloo.  This  supplies  the  author  with 
the  occasion  for  one  of  his  characteristic  discur- 
sions,  which  afford  powerful  side-lights,  but 
which,  with  the  exception  of  a  few  main  incidents, 
are  not  vital  parts  of  the  story.  Some  of  these 
discursions  are  complete  creations  in  themselves, 
which  may  be  wholly  separated  from  the  main 
plot,  to  which  they  are  but  slightly  attached. 
Hugo's  superb  battle-piece  has  been  thus  dis- 
sociated from  the  context  which  obscures  it.  and 
in  this  volume  is  presented  as  a  symmetrical  whole. 
In  "Les  Miserables"  the  story  of  Waterloo  is 
told  in  fragments,  interpolated  amidst  other  sub- 
jects and  scattered  through  many  chapters.  In  the 
present  arrangement  there  are  no  gaps  in  the 
sequence;  the  dramatic  interest  is  unbroken,  and 
the  famous  battle  is  depicted  with  all  the  graphic 
force  of  one  of  the  greatest  of  writers.  The  \yon- 
derfully  vivid  pictures  of  the  charge  of  the  cuiras- 
siers up  the  Heights  of  Mont  St.  Jean,  the  awful 
disaster  at  the  Hollow  Road,  and  the  desperate 
defence  of  the  Chateau  of  Hougomont  are  drawn 
with  unsurpassable  power. 

Editor. 

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BIOGRAPHICAL 
DICTIONARY  OF  AUTHORS 


BIOGRAPHICAL    DICTIONARY 
OF    AUTHORS 

Edwards,  Amelia  Blandford:  Born  at  London  in 
1831;  died  at  Weston  Super  Mare,  Somerset, 
in  1892.  An  English  novelist,  miscellaneous 
writer  and  Egyptologist.  She  showed  talent  for 
drawing  and  music  in  her  early  life  and  in  1853 
began  to  write  for  periodicals.  From  1880  until 
her  death  she  devoted  herself  to  archaeological 
studies.  In  1883  she  became  the  honorary  secre- 
tary of  the  Egyptian  exploration  fund.  She  re- 
ceived the  title  of  Doctor  of  Philosophy  from 
Columbia  College,  New  York,  and  lectured  on 
the  antiquities  of  Egypt,  etc.,  in  1889  and  in  suc- 
ceeding years  in  the  United  States.  "A  Thousand 
Miles  up  the  Nile"  was  illustrated  by  her  own 
sketches.  Among  her  novels  are  "Barbara's  His- 
tory" (1864),  "Lord  Brackenbury"  (1880),  "Deb- 
enham's  Vow"  (1870),  "Half  a  Million  of  Money," 
"Miss  Carew"  (1865),  "Hand  in  Glove,"  etc.  She 
also  wrote  "A  Summary  of  English  History" 
(1856),  "An  Abridgment  of  French  History" 
and  in  1865  published  a  volume  of  ballads. 

Froude,  James  Anthony:  A  noted  English  historian, 
essayist  and  polemical  writer;  born  1818,  died  1894. 
Although  Fronde's  literary  distinction  rests 
mainly  upon  his  historical  writings,  it  is  derived 
from  the  qualities  of  brilliant  diction,  dramatic 
construction  and  power  of  graphic  narration, 
rather  than  from  philosophic  strength  and  pene- 
tration. His  intellect  was  that  of  the  advocate 
rather  than  of  the  judge.  Few  prose  writers  sur- 
pass him  in  lucidity,  force,  brilliance  and  graphic 
power.  He  has  an  unerring  instinct  for  that 
which  stirs  the  imagination,  for  that  which  is  dra- 
matic, for  the  picturesque,  the  romantic,  the  un- 
usual or  exciting.  That  is  to  say,  he  has  the 
mental  equipment  of  the  great  story-teller;  he 
depicts  episodes  and  incidents,  passions,  intrigues, 


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BIOGRAnilCAL  DICTIONARY  OF  AUTHORS 

plots,  the  drama  and  action  of  life;  and,  like  a 
great  master  of  narrative,  he  arranges  the  se- 
quence of  his  events  with  dramatic  art  and  sus- 
tains the  interest  to  the  climax. 

These  qualities  made  Froude  one  of  the  most 
fascinating  of  writers;  but  other  qualities  are  es- 
sential to  a  great  historian.  He  deals  with  epochs 
and  social  forces;  episodes  and  individuals  are 
mere  incidents.  Imagination  and  dramatic  sense 
have  no  part  in  judicial  estimates  of  causes  and 
effects,  or  in  critical  analyses  of  social  forces, 
Froude's  rank  as  a  historian  has  been  hotly  dis- 
puted. He  certainly  was  minute  rather  than 
broad,  picturesque  rather  than  philosophic,  effec- 
tive rather  than  accurate.  His  accuracy  has  been 
assailed,  and  his  generalizations  are  brilliant  rather 
than  sound.  Nevertheless,  he  is  a  great  literary 
artist,  without  a  rival  in  the  vivid  portrayal  of 
historic  episodes. 

Froude  was  educated  for  the  church  and  was  for 
many  years  in  deacon's  orders,  and  was  promi- 
nent in  the  polemic  controversies  of  the  tractarian 
movement  under  Newman.  He  withdrew  from 
the  church  in  1852,  became  Regius  Professor  of 
Modern  History  at  Oxford,  and  devoted  himself 
wholly  to  literature.  His  chief  works  are  a  "His- 
tory of  England  from  the  Fall  of  Wolsey  to  the 
Defeat  of  the  Spanish  Armada,"  "The  English  in 
Ireland  in  the  Eighteenth  Century,"  "Short  Studies 
on  Great  Subjects,"  "Cccsar:  A  Sketch/'  and  va- 
rious essays. 

Haggard,  H.  Rider:  English  author.  The  various 
English  colonies  scattered  over  the  world  have 
recently  developed  a  literature  of  their  own,  dis- 
tinctive in  character,  strong  in  action,  and  strik- 
ingly vivid  in  local  color.  For  the  most  part,  the 
new  school  deals  with  stirring  tales  of  adventure 
and  romance.  H.  Rider  Haggard  is  one  of  these 
strong  colonial  tale-writers.  He  was  born  in 
South  Africa,  and  his  youth  and  early  manhood 
were  passed  among  the  English  pioneers  who  were 
winning  Natal,  Bechuanaland  and  Zululand  from 
the  brave  and  fierce  Zulus  and  Masai.  From  the 
scenes  of  his  early  days  he  has  drawn  material  for 

xlii 


BIOGRAPHICAL  DICTIONARY  OF  AUTHORS 

many  exciting  tales — stories  of  savages,  hunting 
adventures,  strange  peoples,  mysterious  hidden 
cities,  interwoven  with  the  preternatural,  the  im- 
possible, and  often  with  the  absurd.  Haggard's 
tales  have  small  literary  merit;  but  they  have 
strong  dramatic  qualities,  are  often  powerful  iij 
action,  and  here  and  there  show  imagination  of 
the  highest  quality. 

His  most  important  stories  are:  "She,"  "Allan 
Quatermain"  and  "King  Solomon's  Mines." 

Hugo,  Victor  Marie:  Born  at  Besangon  (France), 
February  26,  1802;  died  at  Paris,  May  22,  1885.  A 
celebrated  French  poet,  dramatist  and  novelist, 
one  of  the  foremost  men-of-letters  of  the  nine- 
teenth century  and  the  great  leader  of  the  idealist- 
romantic  school.  Prolific  in  the  several  fields  of 
poetry,  drama  and  fiction,  he  is  eminent  in  all.  In 
his  earlier  years  he  won  distinction  by  his  poems, 
of  which  several  successive  volumes  were  pub- 
lished within  a  few  years.  During  the  same  period 
he  produced  his  first  prose  fictions  and  several 
plays  of  minor  importance.  In  1829-30  the  dramas 
of  "Marion  Delorme"  and  "Hernani"  appeared 
and  won  for  him  high  distinction  as  a  dramatist. 
He  thereafter  wrote  many  noted  acting  plays,  in- 
cluding "Le  Roi  S'Amuse,"  "Lucrece  Borgia," 
"Marie  Tudor,"  "Esmeralda"  and  "Ruy  Bias." 

In  1831  his  powerful  genius  as  a  writer  of  prose 
romance  was  made  manifest  by  "Notre  Dame  de 
I'aris."  For  thirty  years  thereafter  he  produced  no 
prose  fiction  worthy  of  note,  his  fiery  energy  being 
almost  wholly  monopolized  by  journalism  and 
political  agitation.  From  1830  to  1848  he  was  a 
prominent  figure  in  the  tumult  of  French  politics 
and  contributed  not  a  little  to  the  explosive  forces 
of  that  period.  When  the  coup  d'etat  of  1848  sub- 
verted the  Republic  and  created  the  Second  Empire, 
Victor  Hugo  was  exiled.  Being  thus  extinguished  as 
a  political  factor,  his  ardent  mind  turned  again  to 
purely  literary  pursuits.  In  1862  his  great  ro- 
mance, "Les  Miserables,"  appeared,  followed  by 
"Les  Travailleurs  de  la  Mer"  (1866);  "L'Homme 
Qui  Rit"  C1869);  "Quatrevingt-treize"  (1874),  and 
others.  Some  of  these  deservedly  rank  among  the 
masterpieces  of  fiction. 


xliii 


BIOGRAI'IIICAL  DICTIONARY  OF  AUTHORS 

No  critical  estimate  of  Hugo's  work  is  here  at- 
tempted. His  intellectual  greatness  is  conceded; 
but  his  limitations  are  no  less  evident.  His  style 
is  always  impressive,  generally  forcible;  but, 
though  usually  clear  and  lucid,  it  often  becomes 
pompous  and  even  bombastic.  To  English  taste 
the  words  sometimes  seem  much  too  large  for  the 
thought.  In  a  word,  Hugo  is  over-emotional;  a 
master  of  imagination  and  feeling,  but  a  poor 
reasoner;  a  great  poet  and  novelist,  but  an  absurd 
philosopher. 

Irving,  Washington:  Born  at  New  York,  April  3, 
1783;  died  at  Sunnyside,  his  home  near  Tarrytown, 
Nov.  28.  1859.  Irving  is  distinguished  not  only  as 
one  of  the  foremost  American  men-of-letters,  but 
also  as  the  first  American  author  to  gain  a  world- 
wide audience.  A  prolific  and  versatile  writer. 
Irving's  fame  rests  in  large  measure  upon  his 
essays  and  literary  sketches,  in  which  his  delicacy 
of  sentiment,  grace  of  style,  sunny  humor  and 
felicity  of  thought  are  at  their  best.  Among  these 
are  such  literary  masterpieces  as  "Rip  Van  Winkle" 
and  "A  Legend  of  Sleepy  Hollow,"  which  were 
included  in  the  "Sketch  Book,"  published  1819- 
1820.  His  earliest  volume  (1806)  was  "Salma- 
gundi," a  series  of  semi-literary  squibs  on  passing 
events,  written  in  collaboration  with  James  K. 
Paulding.  In  1809  his  delightful  travesty,  "The 
History  of  New  York,  by  Diedrich  Knicker- 
bocker," made  its  appearance.  It  was  a  great 
success  and  gave  Irving  a  secure  literary  standing. 
After  five  years  as  a  merchant,  in  partnership  with 
his  two  brothers,  Irving  went  abroad  in  1815,  and 
remained  in  Europe  until  1832.  He  was  for  three 
years  attache  of  the  United  States  Legation  at 
Madrid  and  three  years  secretary  of  the  Legation 
at  London.  Many  of  his  best  works  were  written 
and  published  during  his  long  foreign  residence,  in 
which  period  his  writings  comprised  "The  Sketch 
Book,"  "Bracebridge  Hall,"  "Tales  of  a  Traveler," 
"Life  and  Voyages  of  Columbus,"  "Conquest  of 
Granada"  and  "The  Alhambra."  He  returned  tq 
America  in  1832,  and  in  1842  was  appointed  United 
States  Minister  to  Spain,  which  post  he  filled  until 


xliv 


BIOGRAPHICAL  DICTIONARY  OF  AUTHORS 

1846.  After  his  final  return  he  resided  at  Sunny- 
side  until  his  death,  in  1859.  In  the  middle  period 
of  his  life  he  wrote  "Crayon  Miscellany"  and 
"Adventures  of  Captain  Bonneville."  His  later 
works  were  "Oliver  Goldsmith"  (1849),  "Ma- 
homet" (1850),  "Wolfert's  Roost"  (1855),  and 
"Life  of  George  Washington"  (1855-59). 

Kipling,  Rudyard:  Born  at  Bombay,  India,  in  1865. 
An  English  writer.  Kipling  was  educated  in  Eng- 
land, but  returned  to  India  in  1880  to  become  sub- 
editor of  the  Lahore  Civil  and  Military  Gazette. 
This  position  he  held  for  seven  years,  during 
which  time  he  published  many  short  stories  and 
poems  of  Anglo-Indian  military  and  civil  life. 
After  leaving  India  in  1889,  he  went  to  England 
thence  to  America,  where  he  resided  temporarily. 
As  an  author,  Kipling  is  extremely  versatile, 
creating  alike  vivid  pictures  of  sea  and  army  life, 
character  studies,  ballads  and  schoolboy  tales.  In 
his  East  Indian  stories  there  is  the  mingled  charm 
of  a  true  knowledge  of  the  subject  and  of  how 
to  tell  a  story  well.  Mr.  Kipling  has  many  critics 
who  question  the  literary  value  of  his  work,  but 
there  are  many,  too,  who  believe  him  to  be  a  very 
great  author.  Through  all  his  stories  and  poems  runs 
an  intimacy  with  the  people  and  things  of  which 
he  writes  that  speaks  of  a  wide  experience  along 
many  lines.  His  fishing  story  of  the  Grand 
Banks,  his  engineer  tales,  and  "The  Ship  that 
Found  Herself"  leaves  one  convinced  that  he  has 
known  the  sea.  It  is  hard  to  believe  that  the 
Jungle  Folk  are  but  dumb  beasts,  and  harder  that 
Mulvaney.  Ortheris  and  Learoyd  were  not  his 
personal  friends,  introduced  by  him  to  the  world 
at  large  in  "Soldiers  Three"  and  "Military  Tales." 
His  principal  works  are:  "Departmental  Dit- 
ties," "Plain  Tales  from  the  Hills,"  "Mine  Own 
People,"  "Soldiers  Three,"  "Barrack-Room  Bal- 
lads," "Many  Inventions,"  "The  Jungle  Books" 
and  "Captains  Courageous." 

Macaulay,  Lord  (Thomas  Babington)  :  One  of  the 
most  famous  of  modern  historians,  a  brilliant 
essayist     and     man-of-letters,    and   an    able   states- 

4  xlv 


BIOGRAnilCAL  DICTIONARY  OF  AUTHORS 

man.  He  was  born  at  Rothley  Temple,  Leicester- 
shire, October  25,  1800,  and  died  at  London  De- 
cember 28,  1859.  His  literary  career  began  in  1825, 
when  his  essay  on  Milton  appeared  in  the  Edin- 
burgh Reviezv  and  won  for  him  instant  fame 
throughout  the  world  of  letters.  The  Edinburgh 
Reviciv  was  one  of  the  most  important  literary 
powers  of  the  time,  the  mouthpiece  of  a  coterie  of 
brilliant  and  able  minds.  Macaulay  quickly  be- 
came one  of  the  foremost  of  this  group,  and  his 
successive  articles  securely  established  his  position 
as  an  essayist  and  reviewer  of  uncommon  power. 

In  1830  Macaulay  entered  Parliament.  His  great 
ability  as  a  publicist  and  jurist  was  at  once  dis- 
played, and  in  1834  his  talent  for  public  afifairs  was 
formally  recognized  by  delegating  to  him  one  of 
the  most  arduous  and  complex  tasks  then  before 
Parliament — the  preparation  of  a  code  of  laws  for 
the  government  of  India.  He  was  appointed  a 
member  of  the  Supreme  Council  in  India,  and  be- 
tween 1834  and  1838  he  performed  the  great  and 
difficult  duty  with  which  he  was  charged  with  such 
signal  efficiency  as  to  give  him  a  high  place  among 
jurisconsults.  Macaulay  remained  a  member  of 
Parliament  until  1847,  twice  becoming  a  cabinet 
minister,  serving  as  War  Secretary,  1839  to  1841, 
and  as  Paymaster-General  1846-7. 

In  1848  appeared  the  first  volumes  of  his  most 
important  work,  "A  History  of  England  from  the 
Accession  of  James  II."  The  third  and  fourth  vol- 
umes were  published  in  1855,  and  the  great  work 
was  completed  in  1861.  Few,  if  any,  historical 
works  have  had  a  greater  or  more  interested  audi- 
ence; nor  has  any  been  at  once  so  highly  praised 
and  severely  condemned.  That  it  fairly  ranks  as  a 
great  masterpiece  of  historical  word-painting  is 
conceded. 

In  1852  Macaulay  re-entered  Parliament,  and  in 
1857  was  raised  to  the  peerage,  as  Baron  Macaulay. 

Among  his  productions  are  a  number  of  ballads, 
most  of  which  are  included  in  every  collection  of 
English  poems.  In  1842  the  "Lays  of  Ancient 
Rome"  were  printed;  and  the  heroic  ballad,  "Hora- 
tius  at  the  Bridge,"  has  since  become  an  English 
classic. 

xlvi 


BIOGRAPHICAL  DICTIONARY  OF  AUTHORS 

MacGahan,  Januarius  Aloysius  :  In  the  long  roll 
of  noted  war-correspondents  MacGahan's  name 
stands  first,  not  alone  for  daring,  persistence,  and 
brilliant  descriptive  powers,  but  for  the  momentous 
results  that  followed  his  horrifying  revelation  of 
the  "Bulgarian  Atrocities"  of  1876.  His  daring 
journey  across  a  trackless  desert  to  witness  the 
capture  of  Khiva  by  the  Russian  army  is  outlined 
in  the  critical  synopsis  of  "A  Picture  of  War." 
When  he  reached  Constantinople,  on  his  return 
from  Turkestan,  war  between  Russia  and  Turkey 
was  imminent.  The  Bulgarians,  subjects  of  Tur- 
key, but  Christians  and  Slavs,  had  implored  the 
Czar  to  defend  them  from  massacre  by  the  fanatic 
Bashi-bazouks.  D'Israeli,  the  English  Premier, 
derided  the  tales  of  fearful  outrages,  and  threat- 
ened to  resist  Russian  aggression  upon  Turkey. 
None  knew  the  truth.  MacGahan  and  Consul- 
General  Eugene  Schuyler,  braving  constant  peril 
of  death,  journeyed  at  speed  throughout  the  tor- 
tured province.  Civilization  was  appalled  at  the 
hideous  revelations  of  massacre,  outrage,  lust  and 
rapine,  of  the  murder  of  women  and  children  by 
thousands,  of  awful  mutilations,  of  towns  depop- 
ulated, pillaged  and  burned.  Gladstone  flamed  into 
fury,  D'Israeli  was  driven  from  power;  and  Russian 
vengeance  fell  upon  the  unspeakable  Turk.  Later, 
near  the  close  of  the  war,  MacGahan,  in  the  hos- 
pital at  Constantinople,  nursed  Captain  (since  Gen- 
eral) Francis  V.  Greene  through  an  attack  of  ty- 
phoid fever.  He  was  himself  stricken  with  black 
typhus,  and  quickly  died,  lamented  as  few  have 
been.  An  American,  born  in  Ohio,  he  was  sent  by 
the  New  York  Herald  to  report  the  Franco-Prus- 
sian war,  made  a  most  brilliant  record,  and  re- 
mained in  Paris  during  the  Commune.  Later  he 
served  both  the  Herald  and  the  London  Daily  News. 

Milton,  John:  Poet  and  Political  Writer.  By  virtue 
of  his  great  epic  poem  of  "Paradise  Lost,"  John 
Milton  holds  a  place  among  the  greatest  poets. 
His  lyric  poems,  "L'AUegro,"  "II  Penseroso"  and 
others  reach  the  serenest  heights  of  imagination 
and  poetic  beauty.  Some  of  his  odes  and  sonnets 
are  masterpieces  of  their  class.     Some  of  his  po- 

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BIOGRAPHICAL  DICTIONARY  OF  AUTHORS 

litical  pamphlets  are  full  of  stern  power,  and, 
though  marred  in  part  by  turgid  and  sometimes 
bombastic  diction,  they  now  and  again  flame  with 
fiery  eloquence,  burning  with  indignation  against 
wrong. 

This  great  poet  was  born  at  London  in  Decem- 
ber, 1608.  A  natural  scholar,  he  gained  a  great 
fund  of  classical  learning,  first  as  a  boy  at  St. 
Paul's  School,  later  as  a  student  at  Cambridge, 
which  he  entered  when  sixteen  years  of  age.  By 
his  classical  studies  he  acquired  a  ponderous  and 
involved  style,  due  to  the  fact  that  many  of  his 
works,  and  especially  his  controversial  tracts, 
were  first  written  in  Latin.  His  English,  therefore, 
smacks  of  Latinity;  and  at  times  it  becomes 
grandiose.  His  earlier  poems  were  written  whil^ 
still  a  youth  at  school  and  college,  and  during 
the  years  immediately  following.  They  include 
the  "Ode  on  the  Nativity,"  the  sonnets  "To 
Shakespeare,"  "To  the  Nightingale,"  etc.,  "Ad 
Patrem,"  "L' Allegro,"  "II  Penseroso,"  "Comus" 
and  "Lycidas." 

In  the  troubled  times  preceding  and  during  the 
Civil  War  and  Commonwealth  he  wrote  many 
pamphlets  on  political  and  ecclesiastical  affairs. 
The  most  notable  of  these  was  the  "Areopagitica," 
a  noble  argument  for  a  free  press.  Under  the 
Commonwealth  he  was  Latin  Secretary.  On  the 
restoration  of  the  Monarchy  he  was  proscribed 
because  of  his  political  writings.  He  was  soon 
pardoned,  and  resumed  his  interrupted  literarY 
labors,  burdened  down  by  blindness,  penury  and 
domestic  unhappiness. 

In  1658  he  began  his  great  work,  "Paradise 
Lost;"  it  was  finished  in  1665  and  published  in 
1667.  This  was  followed  by  the  inferior  "Paradise 
Regained,"  "Samson  Agonistes,"  etc. 

Milton  died  November  8,  1674. 

Russell,  William  Howard:  A  noted  British  jour- 
nalist and  war  correspondent;  born  near  Dublin, 
1821. 

In  the  'fifties  of  the  century  just  closed  a  new 
form  of  literary  activity  came  into  being.  The 
newspaper  was  in  process  of  transformation  from 

xlviii 


BIOGRAPHICAL  DICTIONARY  OF  AUTHORS 

an  organ  of  opinion  to  a  current  record  of  events; 
and  brilliant  literary  talent  was  then  first  directed 
to  exact  observation  and  vivid  description  of  the 
world's  great  happenings.  In  1854-55  there  were 
printed  in  the  London  Tmtes  a  series  of  remark- 
able reports  from  the  seat  of  war  in  the  Crimea. 
They  were  powerful,  glowing,  trenchant;  never 
before  had  the  actualities  of  war  been  so  vividly 
depicted  day  by  day  to  a  nation  feverishly  anxious 
for  news.  Never  before  had  the  stories  of  great 
battles  been  told  by  the  press  almost  upon  the 
instant,  in  English  so  terse  and  lucid,  with  diction 
so  powerful,  with  such  dramatic  force,  with  such 
clarity  and  fullness. 

William  Howard  Russell  was  the  first  of  the 
great  war  correspondents.  His  first  letters  thrilled 
all  England  with  their  wonderful  descriptive 
power.  There  is  no  stronger  battle-piece  in  the 
language  than  his  report  of  the  battle  of,Balaklava, 
written  on  the  field  and  under  extreme  pressure  of 
time.  Later  the  nation  was  stirred  to  burning  in- 
dignation by  his  unsparing  exposure  of  the  blun- 
dering incapacity  which  almost  destroyed  the 
British  army  in  the  Crimea.  Russell's  fiery  in- 
vective drove  out  lords  and  generals  in  disgrace 
and  forced  a  reorganization. 

Russell's  newspaper  letters  descriptive  of  the 
Indian  Mutiny  of  1857-58  were  equally  notable. 
He  served  as  war  correspondent  for  the  London 
Times  in  the  American  Civil  war,  the  Austro- 
Prussian  war  of  1866,  and  the  Franco-German 
war  of  1870-71. 

Scott,  Sir  Walter:  Poet,  Historian,  and  Writer  of 
Romantic  Fiction:  Born  at  Edinburgh,  1771;  died 
at  Abbotsford,  Scotland,  in  1832. 

It  is  impracticable,  in  this  limited  space,  to  at- 
tempt any  critical  estimate  of  a  writer  so  prolific 
and  versatile  as  Scott.  Only  the  salient  facts  of 
his  career  can  be  stated,  with  a  list  of  his  more 
important  works. 

Walter  Scott  was  the  son  of  an  Edinburgh  at- 
torney and  was  trained  for  the  bar.  As  a  child, 
his  health  was  feeble,  and  he  was  therefore  fitful 
and  irregular  in  his  attendance  at  school.     In  his 

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BIOGRAPHICAL  DICTIONARY  OF  AUTHORS 

formal  studies  he  was  defective;  but  he  had  an  in- 
satiable thirst  for  knowledge  and  devoured  books 
with  avidity.  As  he  grew  stronger  he  developed 
industry  and  application  in  his  reading.  He  de- 
lighted in  romantic  history,  ballad  poetry,  the  folk 
lore  and  wild  legends  of  the  turbulent  Scottish 
tribesmen.  At  fifteen  he  knew  little  Latin,  but  was 
saturated  with  romantic  lore,  with  the  literature 
of  history,  and  with  the  traditions  and  legends 
eagerly  gleaned  from  the  thousands  of  old  tales 
current  among  the  common  people. 

Young  Scott  read  law  as  a  duty  but  without  zest. 
Delving  into  the  past  was  far  more  congenial,  and 
the  severe  Scotch  precision  of  the  elder  Scott  was 
scandalized  by  young  Walter's  frequent  roamings, 
during  which  he  scoured  the  country  to  gather  its 
ballads  and  legends — a  pursuit  which  moved  the 
severe  old  gentleman  to  declare  that  he  was  fit  for 
nothing  but  a  "gangrel  scrape-gut." 

In  1792  Walter  Scott  was  admitted  to  the  bar 
and  became  an  advocate.  His  aim  was  to  obtain 
an  appointment  in  the  Courts,  whose  income  would 
permit  him  to  follow  literary  pursuits.  In  1799  he 
was  made  a  sheriff-depute  of  Selkirkshire,  with  a 
comfortable  salary  and  nominal  duties.  A  fewr 
years  later  he  obtained  the  additional  office 
of  clerk-of-the-session,  the  combined  salaries 
amounting  to  £1,600  a  year.  During  these  early 
years  his  taste  for  romance,  tradition  and  ballad 
led  him  into  the  wider  fields  of  the  early  romantic 
literature  of  France  and  Italy.  By  an  accident  he 
was  led  to  learn  German,  while  still  in  his  teens. 
The  ballad  poetry  of  Germany  struck  a  congenial 
note  and  incited  his  first  published  literary  work, 
a  translation  of  Biirger's  ballads,  which  appeared 
in  1796,  followed  in  1799  by  a  translation  o; 
Goethe's  "Gotz  von  Berlichingen." 

In  1802-3  he  published  "The  Minstrelsy  of  the 
Scottish  Border,"  and  in  1805  appeared  his  first  im- 
portant poem — "The  Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel." 
This  poem  was  not  only  a  great  popular  success, 
but  earned  a  handsome  profit  for  its  publishers  and 
author.  Coincident  with  this  prosperity,  Scott  re- 
ceived a  moderate  bequest,  which  he  was  persuaded 
to  secretly  invest  in  a  printing  plant,  for  which  he 

1 


BIOGRAPHICAL  DICTIONARY  OF  AUTHORS 

secured  large  patronage  from  Constable,  his  Lon- 
don publisher,  then  the  autocrat  of  the  literary 
world.  "Marmion"  was  published  in  1808.  Its 
success  was  dazzling,  and  the  large  profits  from  it 
were  indirectly  the  undoing  of  the  author.  The 
printing  firm,  of  which  he  was  a  secret  partner, 
quarrelled  with  his  publisher.  A  breach  ensued, 
Scott  withdrew  his  works  from  Constable's  control 
and  the  printing  concern  became  his  publishers. 

Scott's  popularity  continued  unabated.  "The 
Lady  of  the  Lake"  (1810),  "Vision  of  Don  Rod- 
erick" (1811),  and  "Rokeby"  (1813)  gave  him 
the  first  place  among  the  authors  of  the  day. 
Their  sale  was  immense,  and  Scott  was  seemingly 
on  the  full  tide  of  prosperity.  He  bought  a  great 
estate  on  the  Tweed  and  spent  immense  sums  in 
building  the  fine  manor  of  Abbotsford. 

Then  came  the  shadow  of  disaster.  Against  the 
great  profits  earned  by  his  own  creations  were 
scored  still  greater  losses  from  other  ventures. 
At  the  request  of  his  partners  he  had  edited  th^ 
works  of  Dryden,  of  Swift,  the  Somers  Tracts,  the 
Sadler  State  Papers  and  other  works.  They  were 
wholly  unsalable,  and  bankruptcy  was  imminent, 
It  was  averted  by  the  aid  of  Constable,  who  again 
became  Scott's  publisher. 

The  first  of  Scott's  great  prose  works  was  given 
to  the  world  in  1814,  under  the  title  of  "Waverley; 
or,  'Tis  Sixty  Years  Since."  This  novel  was  pub- 
lished anonymously;  and  for  thirteen  years  the 
identity  of  the  "Author  of  Waverley"  was  a  mys- 
tery. Other  novels  "By  the  Author  of  Waverley" 
followed  in  astoundingly  rapid  succession,  and 
simultaneously  Walter  Scott  was  publishing  in  his 
proper  name  poetical  romances,  history,  reviews, 
was  editing  the  works  of  other  authors,  and  per- 
forming his  duties  as  a  court  officer. 

His  health  gave  way  under  the  strain;  he  re- 
fused to  relax,  and  produced  the  greatest  of  his 
works  while  enduring  physical  agony.  His  earn- 
ings were  princely,  but  his  outlays  were  great,  his 
building  operations  making  heavy  demands  upon 
him.  In  1825  he  was  appalled  by  the  failure  of 
Constable,  his  publisher,  and  the  discovery  that 
the  printing  firm  of  which  he  was  a  member  had 


BIOGRAPHICAL  DICTIONARY  OF  AUTHORS 

hopelessly  involved  him  in  the  failure  and  that  he 
was  liable  for  ^130,000. 

He  devoted  the  remaining  few  years  of  his  life 
to  gigantic  toil  to  pay  this  debt.  For  two  years  he 
wrote  at  tremendous  speed,  paid  £40,000  to  his 
creditors,  and  then  came  intimations  of  collapse 
in  the  form  of  a  slight  stroke  of  paralysis.  He 
refused  to  heed.  He  toiled  ceaselessly,  wrote 
more  novels  whose  feebleness  showed  his  waning 
powers,  wrote  the  Life  of  Napoleon,  the  History 
of  Scotland,  the  Tales  of  a  Grandfather,  wrote 
various  other  works — anything  that  might  coin 
his  dying  brain  into  money  to  wipe  disgrace  from 
his  name. 

He  paid  his  debts.  Then  he  rested  from  his  toil 
and  died. 

Editoh- 


lii 


WATERLOO 


WATERLOO 

Victor  Hugo:    An  Abstract  from  "Les  Miserables" 


CHE  sun  was  charming ;  the  branches  had  that  soft 
shivering  of  May,  which  seemed  to  proceed  rather 
from  the  nests  than  from  the  wind.  A  brave  little  bird, 
probably  a  lover,  was  carolling  in  a  distracted  manner 
in  a  large  tree. 

The  wayfarer  bent  over  and  examined  a  rather  large 
circular  excavation,  resembling  the  hollow  of  a  sphere, 
in  the  stone  on  the  left,  at  the  foot  of  the  pier  of  the 
door. 

At  this  moment  the  leaves  of  the  door  parted,  and  a 
peasant  woman  emerged. 

She  saw  the  wayfarer,  and  perceived  what  he  was 
looking  at. 

"It  was  a  French  cannon-ball  which  made  that,"  she 
said  to  him.     And  she  added : 

"That  which  you  see  there,  higher  up  in  the  door,  near 
a  nail,  is  the  hole  of  a  big  iron  bullet  as  large  as  an  egg. 
The  bullet  did  not  pierce  the  wood." 

"What  is  the  name  of  this  place?"  inquired  the  way- 
farer. 

"Hugomont,"  said  the  peasant  woman. 

The  traveler  straightened  himself  up.  He  walked  on 
a  few  paces,  and  went  off  to  look  over  the  tops  of  the 
hedges.  On  the  horizon,  through  the  trees,  he  perceived 
a  sort  of  little  elevation,  and  on  this  elevation  something 
which,  at  that  distance,  resembled  a  lion. 

He  was  on  the  battle-field  of  Waterloo. 


FAMOUS  TALES   OF   BATTLE,   CAMP  AND   SIEGE. 

If  it  had  not  rained  in  the  night  between  the  17th  and 
the  i8th  of  June,  1815,  the  fate  of  Europe  would  have 
been  dififerent.  A  few  drops  of  water,  more  or  less, 
decided  the  downfall  of  Napoleon.  All  that  Providence 
required  in  order  to  make  Waterloo  the  end  of  Auster- 
!itz  was  a  little  more  rain,  and  a  cloud  traversing  the 
sky  out  of  season  sufficed  to  make  a  world  crumble. 

The  battle  of  Waterloo  could  not  be  begun  until 
half-past  eleven  o'clock;  that  gave  Blucher  time  to 
come  up.  Why?  Because  the  ground  was  wet.  The 
artillery  had  to  wait  until  it  became  a  little  firmer  be- 
fore they  could  maneuver. 

Napoleon  was  an  artillery  officer,  and  felt  the  efifects 
of  this.  The  foundation  of  this  wonderful  captain  was 
the  man  who,  in  the  report  to  the  Directory  on  Abou- 
kir,  said:  "Such  a  one  of  our  balls  killed  six  men."  All 
his  plans  of  battle  were  arranged  for  projectiles.  The 
key  to  his  victory  was  to  make  the  artillery  converge 
on  one  point.  He  treated  the  strategy  of  the  hostile 
general  like  a  citadel,  and  made  a  breach  in  it.  He 
overwhelmed  the  weak  point  with  grape-shot;  he  joined 
and  dissolved  battles  with  cannon.  There  was  some- 
thing of  the  sharpshooter  in  his  genius.  To  beat  in 
squares,  to  pulverize  regiments,  to  break  lines,  to  crush 
and  disperse  masses — for  him  everything  lay  in  this,  to 
strike,  strike,  strike  incessantly — and  he  entrusted  this 
task  to  the  cannon-ball.  A  redoubtable  method,  and 
one  which,  united  with  genius,  rendered  this  gloomy 
athlete  of  the  pugilism  of  war  invincible  for  the  space 
of  fifteen  years. 

On  the  i8th  of  June,  1815,  he  relied  all  the  more  on 
his  artillery,  because  he  had  numbers  on  his  side.  Wel- 
lington had  only  one  hundred  and  fifty-nine  mouths  of 
fire;  Napoleon  had  two  hundred  and  forty. 

Suppose  the  soil  dry,  and  the  artillery  capable  of  mov- 
ing, the  action  would  have  begun  at  six  o'clock  in  the 

12 


WATERLOO. 

morning.  The  battle  would  have  been  won  and  ended 
at  two  o'clock,  three  hours  before  the  change  of  for- 
tune in  favor  of  the  Prussians.  What  amount  of  blame 
attaches  to  Napoleon  for  the  loss  of  this  battle?  Is  the 
shipwreck  due  to  the  pilot? 

His  plan  of  battle  was,  by  the  confession  of  all,  a 
masterpiece.  To  go  straight  to  the  centre  of  the  Allies' 
line,  to  make  a  breach  in  the  enemy,  to  cut  them  in 
two,  to  drive  the  British  half  back  on  Hal,  and  the 
Prussian  half  on  Tongres,  to  make  two  shattered  frag- 
ments of  Wellington  and  Blucher,  to  carry  Mont-Saint- 
Jean,  to  seize  Brussels,  to  hurl  the  German  into  the 
Rhine,  and  the  Englishman  into  the  sea.  All  this  was 
contained  in  that  battle,  according  to  Napoleon. 

Those  persons  who  wish  to  gain  a  clear  idea  of  the 
battle  of  Waterloo  have  only  to  place,  mentally,  on  the 
ground,  a  capital  A.  The  left  limb  of  the  A  is  the  road 
to  Nivelles,  the  right  limb  is  the  road  to  Genappe,  the 
tie  of  the  A  is  the  hollow  road  to  Ohain  from  Braine 
I'Alleud.  The  top  of  the  A  is  Mont-Saint-Jean,  where 
Wellington  is;  the  lower  left  tip  is  Hougomont,  where 
Reille  is  stationed  with  Jerome  Bonaparte;  the  right 
tip  is  the  Belle-Alliance,  where  Napoleon  was.  At  the 
center  of  this  chord  is  the  precise  point  where  the  final 
word  of  the  battle  was  pronounced.  It  was  there  that  the 
lion  has  been  placed,  the  involuntary  symbol  of  the 
supreme  heroism  of  the  Imperial  Guard. 

The  triangle  included  in  the  top  of  the  A,  between 
the  two  limbs  and  the  tie,  is  the  plateau  of  Mont-Saint- 
Jean.  The  dispute  over  this  plateau  constituted  the 
whole  battle.  The  wings  of  the  two  armies  extended  to 
the  right  and  left  of  the  two  roads  to  Genappe  and 
Nivelles;  d'Erlon  facing  Picton,  Reille  facing  Hill. 

Two  hostile  troops  on  a  field  of  battle  are  two  wrest- 
lers. It  is  a  question  of  seizing  the  opponent  around 
the  waist.     The  one  seeks  to  trip  up  the  other.     They 

13 


FAMOUS  TALES   OF   RATTLE.   CAMP  AND  SIEGE. 

clutch  at  everything;  a  bush  is  a  point  of  support;  an 
angle  of  the  wall  oflfers  them  a  rest  to  the  shoulder; 
for  the  lack  of  a  hovel  under  whose  cover  they  can  draw 
up,  a  regiment  yields  its  ground;  an  unevenness  in  the 
ground,  a  chance  turn  in  the  landscape,  a  cross-path  en- 
countered at  the  right  moment,  a  grove,  a  ravine,  can 
stay  the  heel  of  that  colossus  which  is  called  an  army, 
and  prevent  its  retreat.  He  who  quits  the  field  is  beaten, 
hence  the  necessity  devolving  on  the  responsible  leader 
of  examining  the  most  insignificant  clump  of  trees  and 
of  studying  deeply  the  slightest  relief  in  the  ground. 

The  two  generals  had  attentively  studied  the  plain 
of  Mont-Saint-Jean,  now  called  the  plain  of  Waterloo. 
In  the  preceding  year,  Wellington,  with  the  sagacity  of 
foresight,  had  examined  it  as  the  possible  seat  of  a  great 
battle.  Upon  this  spot,  and  for  this  duel,  on  the  i8th 
of  June,  Wellington  had  the  good  post,  Napoleon 
the  bad  post.  The  English  army  was  stationed  above, 
the  French  army  below. 

It  is  almost  superfluous  here  to  sketch  the  appearance 
of  Napoleon  on  horseback,  glass  in  hand,  upon  the 
heights  of  Rossomme,  at  daybreak,  on  June  i8,  1815. 
All  the  world  has  seen  him  before  we  can  show  him. 
That  calm  profile  under  the  little  three-cornered  hat 
of  the  school  of  Brienne,  that  green  uniform,  the  white 
revers  concealing  the  star  of  the  Legion  of  Honor,  his 
great  coat  hiding  his  epaulettes,  the  corner  of  red  rib- 
bon peeping  from  beneath  his  vest,  his  leather  trousers, 
the  white  horse  with  the  saddle-cloth  of  purple  velvet 
bearing  on  the  corners  crowned  N's  and  eagles,  Hes- 
sian boots  over  silk  stockings,  silver  spurs,  the  sword  of 
Marengo — that  whole  figure  of  the  last  of  the  Caesars 
is  present  to  all  imaginations,  saluted  with  acclamations 
by  some,  severely  regarded  by  others. 

Everyone  is  acquainted  with  the  first  phase  of 
this  battle;  a  beginning  which  was  troubled,  uncertain, 

14 


WATERLOO. 

hesitating,  menacing  to  both  armies,  but  still  more  so 
for  the  English  than  for  the  French. 

It  had  rained  all  night,  the  earth  had  been  cut  up  by 
the  downpour,  the  water  had  accumulated  here  and  there 
in  the  hollows  of  the  plain  as  if  in  casks;  at  some  points 
the  gear  of  the  artillery  carriages  was  buried  up  to  the 
axles,  the  circingles  of  the  horses  were  dripping  with 
liquid  mud.  If  the  wheat  and  rye  trampled  down  by 
this  cohort  of  transports  on  the  march  had  not  filled  in 
the  ruts  and  strewn  a  litter  beneath  the  wheels,  all 
movement,  particularly  in  the  valleys,  in  the  direction 
of  Papelotte  would  have  been  impossible. 

The  aflfair  began  late.  Napoleon,  as  we  have  already 
explained,  was  in  the  habit  of  keeping  all  his  artillery 
well  in  hand,  like  a  pistol,  aiming  it  now  at  one  point, 
now  at  another,  of  the  battle;  and  it  had  been  his  wish 
to  wait  until  the  horse  batteries  could  move  and  gallop 
freely.  In  order  to  do  that  it  was  necessary  that  the 
sun  should  come  out  and  dry  the  soil.  But  the  sun  did 
not  make  its  appearance.  It  was  no  longer  the  ren- 
dezvous of  Austerlitz.  When  the  first  cannon  was  fired, 
the  English  general,  Colville,  looked  at  his  watch,  and 
noted  that  it  was  thirty-five  minutes  past  eleven. 

There  is  in  this  day  an  obscure  interval,  from  mid-day 
to  four  o'clock;  the  middle  portion  of  this  battle  is 
almost  indistinct,  and  participates  in  the  sombreness 
of  the  hand-to-hand  conflict.  Twilight  reigns  over  it. 
We  perceive  vast  fluctuations  in  that  fog,  a  dizzy  mir- 
age, paraphernalia  of  war  almost  unknown  to-day, 
pendant  colbacks,  floating  sabre-taches,  cross-belts,  car- 
tridge-boxes for  grenades,  hussar  dolmans,  red  boots 
with  a  thousand  wrinkles,  heavy  shakos  garlanded  with 
torsades,  the  almost  black  infantry  of  Brunswick  min- 
gled with  the  scarlet  infantry  of  England,  the  English 
soldiers  with  great  white  circular  pads  on  the  slopes  of 
their    shoulders    for    epaulets,    the    Hanoverian    light- 

15 


FAMOUS  TALES   OF  BATTLE,   CAMP  AND   SIEGE. 

horse  with  their  oblong  casques  of  leather,  with  brass 
hands  and  red  horse-tails,  the  Scotch  with  their  bare 
knees  and  plaids,  the  great  white  gaiters  of  our  grena- 
diers, pictures,  not  strategic  lines — what  Salvator  Rosa 
requires,  not  what  is  suited  to  the  needs  of  Gribeauval. 

A  certain  amount  of  tempest  is  always  mingled  with  a 
battle.  Quid  obscurum,  quid  divinum.  Each  histori- 
an traces,  to  some  extent,  the  peculiar  feature  which 
pleases  him  amid  this  pell-mell.  Whatever  may  be  the 
combinations  of  the  generals,  the  shock  of  armed 
masses  has  an  incalculable  ebb.  During  the  action  the 
plans  of  the  two  leaders  enter  into  each  other  and  be- 
come mutually  thrown  out  of  shape.  Such  a  point  of 
the  field  of  battle  devours  more  combatants  than  such 
another,  just  as  more  or  less  spongy  soils  soak  up  more 
or  less  quickly  the  water  which  is  poured  on  them.  It 
becomes  necessary  to  pour  out  more  soldiers  than  one 
would  like;  a  series  of  expenditures  which  were  unfore- 
seen. The  line  of  battle  waves  and  undulates  like  a 
thread,  the  trails  of  blood  gush  illogically,  the  fronts 
of  the  armies  waver,  the  regiments  form  capes  and  gulfs 
as  they  enter  and  withdraw;  all  these  reefs  are  contin- 
ually moving  in  front  of  each  other.  Where  the  infan- 
try stood  the  artillery  arrives,  the  cavalry  rushes  in 
where  the  artillery  was,  the  battalions  are  like  smoke. 
There  was  something  there;  seek  it.  It  has  disap- 
peared; the  open  spots  change  place,  the  sombre  folds 
advance  and  retreat,  a  sort  of  wind  from  the  sepulchre 
pushes  forward,  hurls  back,  distends  and  disperses  these 
tragic  multitudes.  The  historian  cannot  do  more  than 
seize  the  principal  outlines  of  the  struggle,  and  it  is  not 
given  to  any  one  narrator,  however  conscientious  he 
may  be,  to  fix,  absolutely,  the  form  of  that  horrible 
cloud  which  is  called  a  battle. 

This,  which  is  true  of  all  great  armed  encounters,  is 
particularly  applicable  to  Waterloo. 

i6 


WATERLOO. 

Nevertheless,  at  a  certain  moment  in  the  afternoon 
the  battle  came  to  a  point. 

Towards  four  o'clock  the  condition  of  the  English 
army  was  serious.  The  battle  had,  for  Wellington,  two 
bases  of  action,  Hougomont  and  La  Haie-Sainte;  Hou- 
gomont  still  held  out,  but  was  on  fire;  La  Haie-Sainte 
was  taken.  Of  the  German  battalion  which  defended  it, 
only  forty-two  men  survived;  all  the  officers,  except 
five,  were  either  dead  or  captured.  Three  thousand 
combatants  had  been  massacred  in  that  barn.  The 
Scotch  Grays  no  longer  existed;  Ponsonby's  great  dra- 
goons had  been  hacked  to  pieces.  That  valiant  cavalry 
had  bent  beneath  the  lancers  of  Bro  and  beneath  the 
cuirassiers  of  Travers;  out  of  twelve  hundred  horses,  six 
hundred  remained;  out  of  three  lieutenant-colonels,  two 
lay  on  the  earth — Hamilton  wounded,  Mater  slain. 
Ponsonby  had  fallen,  riddled  by  seven  lance-thrusts. 
Gordon  was  dead.  Marsh  was  dead.  Two  divisions, 
the  fifth  and  sixth,  had  been  annihilated. 

Hougomont  injured,  La  Haie-Sainte  taken,  there 
now  existed  but  one  rallying  point,  the  centre.  That 
point  still  held  firm.  Wellington  reinforced  it.  He 
summoned  thither  Hill,  who  was  at  Merle-Braine*  he 
summoned  Chasse,  who  was  at  Braine  I'Alleud. 

The  centre  of  the  English  army,  rather  concave,  very 
dense,  and  very  compact,  was  strongly  posted.  It  oc- 
cupied the  plateau  of  Mont-Saint-Jean,  having  behind 
it  the  village,  and  in  front  of  it  the  slope,  which  was 
tolerably  steep  then.  It  rested  on  that  stout  stone 
dwelling  which  at  that  time  belonged  to  the  domain  of 
Nivelles,  and  which  marks  the  intersection  of  the  roads 
— a  pile  o£  the  sixteenth  century,  and  so  robust  that  the 
cannon-balls  rebounded  from  it  without  injuring  it. 
All  about  the  plateau  the  English  had  cut  the  hedges 
here  and  there,  made  embrasures  in  the  hawthorn  trees, 
thrust  the  throat  of  a  cannon  between  two  branches, 

17 


FAMOL'S   TALES   OF   BATTLE,   CAMP  AND   SIEGE. 

embattled  the  shrubs.  Their  artillery  was  ambushed  in 
the  brushwood.  This  punic  labor,  incontestably  au- 
thorized by  war,  which  permits  traps,  was  so  well  done 
that  Haxo,  who  had  been  despatched  by  the  Emperor 
at  nine  o'clock  in  the  morning  to  reconnoitre  the 
enemy's  batteries,  had  discovered  nothing  of  it,  and 
had  returned  and  reported  to  Napoleon  that  there  were 
no  obstacles  except  the  two  barricades  which  barred  the 
road  to  Nivelles  and  to  Genappe.  It  was  at  the  season 
when  the  grain  is  tall;  on  the  edge  of  the  plateau  a 
battalion  of  Kempt's  brigade,  the  95th,  armed  with  car- 
bines, was  concealed  in  the  tall  wheat. 

Wellington,  uneasy  but  impassive,  was  on  horseback, 
and  there  remained  the  whole  day  in  the  same  attitude, 
a  little  in  advance  of  the  old  mill  of  Mont-Saint-Jean, 
which  is  still  in  existence,  beneath  an  elm,  which  an 
Englishman,  an  enthusiastic  vandal,  purchased  later  on 
for  two  hundred  francs,  cut  down,  and  carried  of¥. 
Wellington  was  coldly  heroic.  The  bullets  rained  about 
him.  His  aide-de-camp,  Gordon,  fell  at  his  side.  Lord 
Hill,  pointing  to  a  shell  which  had  burst,  said  to  him: 
"My  lord,  what  are  your  orders  in  case  you  are  killed?" 
"To  do  like  me,"  replied  Wellington.  To  Clinton  he 
said  laconically,  "To  hold  this  spot  to  the  last  man." 
The  dfiy  was  evidently  turning  out  ill.  Wellington 
shouted  to  his  old  companions  of  Talavera,  of  Vittoria, 
of  Salamanca:  "Boys,  can  retreat  be  thought  of?  Think 
of  old  England!" 

Towards  four  o'clock,  the  English  line  drew  back. 
.Suddenly  nothing  was  visible  on  the  crest  of  the  plateau 
except  the  artillery  and  the  sharpshooters;  the  rest  had 
disappeared;  the  regiments,  dislodged  by  the  shells  and 
the  French  bullets,  retreated  into  the  bottom,  now  in- 
tersected by  the  back  road  of  the  farm  of  Mont-Saint- 
Jean;  a  retrograde  movement  took  place,  the  English 

t8 


WATERLOO. 

front  hid  itself,  Wellington  drew  back.  "The  begin- 
ning of  retreat!"  cried  Napoleon. 

The  plateau  of  Mont-Saint-Jean  is  now  accessible  by 
an  easy  slope.  On  the  day  of  battle,  particularly  on 
the  side  of  La  Haie-Sainte,  it  was  abrupt  and  difficult 
of  approach.  The  slope  there  is  so  steep  that  the  Eng- 
lish cannon  could  not  see  the  farm,  situated  in  the  bot- 
tom of  the  valley,  which  was  the  centre  of  the  com- 
bat. On  the  i8th  of  June,  1815,  the  rains  had  still  fur- 
ther increased  this  acclivity,  the  mud  complicated  the 
problem  of  the  ascent,  and  the  men  not  only  slipped 
back,  but  stuck  fast  in  the  mire.  Along  the  crest  of  the 
plateau  ran  a  sort  of  trench  whose  presence  it  was  im- 
possible for  the  distant  observer  to  divine. 

What  was  this  trench?  Let  us  explain.  Braine  I'Al- 
leud  is  a  Belgian  village;  Ohain  is  another.  These  vil- 
lages, both  of  them  concealed  in  curves  of  the  land- 
scape, are  connected  by  a  road  about  a  league  and  a  half 
in  length,  which  traversoe  the  plain  along  its  undulat- 
ing level,  and  often  enters  and  buries  itself  in  the  hills 
like  a  furrow,  which  makes  a  ravine  of  this  road  in 
some  places.  In  1815  this  road  cut  the  crest  of  the 
plateau  of  Mont-Saint-Jean  between  the  two  highways 
from  Genappe  and  Nivelles.  It  was  then  a  hollow  way. 
This  road  was,  and  still  is,  a  trench  throughout  the 
greater  portion  of  its  course;  a  hollow  trench,  some- 
times a  dozen  feet  in  depth,  and  whose  banks,  being  too 
steep,  crumbled  away  here  and  there,  particularly  in 
winter,  under  driving  rains. 

On  the  day  of  battle,  this  hollow  road,  whose  exist- 
ence was  in  no  way  indicated,  bordering  the  crest  of 
Mont-Saint-Jean,  a  trench  at  the  summit  of  the  escarp- 
ment, a  rut  concealed  in  the  soil,  was  invisible;  that  is 
to  say,  terrible. 

So,  on  the  morning  of  Waterloo,  Napoleon  was  con- 
tent. 

19 


FAMOUS  TALES  OF   BATTLE,   CAMP  AND   SIEGE. 

He  was  right;  the  plan  of  battle  conceived  by  him 
was,  as  we  have  seen,  really  admirable. 

The  battle  once  begun,  its  very  various  changes — the 
resistance  of  Hougomont;  the  tenacity  of  La  Haie- 
Sainte;  the  killing  of  Baudin;  the  disabling  of  Foy;  the 
unexpected  wall  against  which  Soye's  brigade  was 
shattered;  Guilleminot's  fatal  heedlessness  when  he  had 
neither  petard  nor  powder  sacks;  the  miring  of  the 
batteries;  the  fifteen  unescorted  pieces  overwhelmed 
in  a  hollow  way  by  Uxbridge;  the  small  effect  of  the 
bombs  falling  in  the  English  lines,  and  there  embed- 
ding themselves  in  the  rain-soaked  soil,  and  only  suc- 
ceeding in  producing  volcanoes  of  mud,  so  that  the 
canister  was  turned  into  a  splash.  .  .  .  Marcog- 
net's  division,  caught  between  the  infantry  and  the  cav- 
alry, shot  down  at  the  very  muzzle  of  the  guns  amid 
the  grain  by  Best  and  Pack,  put  to  the  sword  by  Pon- 
sonby;  his  battery  of  seven  pieces  spiked;  .  .  . 
Grouchy's  delay;  fifteen  hundred  men  killed  in  the 
orchard  of  Hougomont  in  less  than  an  hour;  eighteen 
hundred  men  overthrown  in  a  still  shorter  time  about 
La  Haie-Sainte — all  these  stormy  incidents  passing  like 
the  clouds  of  battle  before  Napoleon,  had  hardly 
troubled  his  gaze  and  had  not  overshadowed  that  face 
of  imperial  certainty.  Napoleon  was  accustomed  to 
gaze  steadily  at  war;  he  never  added  up  the  heart- 
rending details,  cipher  by  cipher;  ciphers  mattered  little 
to  him,  provided  that  they  furnished  the  total — victory; 
he  was  not  alarmed  if  the  beginnings  did  go  astray, 
since  he  thought  himself  the  master  and  the  possessor 
at  the  end;  he  knew  how  to  wait,  supposing  himself  to 
be  out  of  the  question,  and  he  treated  destiny  as  his 
equal;  he  seemed  to  say  to  fate.  Thou  wilt  not  dare! 

At  the  moment  when  Wellington  retreated.  Napo- 
leon shuddered.  He  suddenly  beheld  the  table-land  of 
Mont-Saint-Jean  cleared,  and  the  van  of  the  English 

20 


WATERLOO. 

army  disappeared.  It  was  rallying,  but  hiding  itself. 
The  Emperor  half-rose  in  his  stirrups.  The  lightning 
of  victory  flashed  from  his  eyes. 

Wellingttn,  driven  into  a  corner  at  the  forest  of 
Soignes  and  destroyed — that  was  the  definitive  con- 
quest of  England  by  France;  it  was  Crecy,  Poitiers, 
Malplaquet,  and  Ramillies  avenged.  The  man  of  Ma- 
rengo was  wiping  out  Agincourt. 

So  the  Emperor,  meditating  upon  this  terrible  turn 
of  fortune,  swept  his  glass  for  the  last  time  over  all 
the  points  of  the  field  of  battle.  His  guard,  standing 
behind  him  with  grounded  arms,  watched  him  from 
below  with  a  sort  of  religion.  He  pondered;  he  ex- 
amined the  slopes,  noted  the  declivities,  scrutinized  the 
clumps  of  trees,  the  square  of  rye,  the  path;  he  seemed 
to  be  counting  each  bush. 

The  Emperor  straightened  himself  up  and  fell  to 
thinking. 

Wellington  had  drawn  back. 

All  that  remained  to  do  was  to  complete  this  retreat 
by  crushing  him. 

Napoleon  turning  round  abruptly,  despatched  an  ex- 
press at  full  speed  to  Paris  to  announce  that  the  battle 
was  won. 

He  gave  orders  to  Milhaud's  cuirassiers  to  carry  the 
table-land  of  Mont-Saint-Jean. 

There  were  three  thousand  five  hundred  of  them. 
They  formed  a  front  a  quarter  of  a  league  in  extent. 
They  were  giant  men,  on  colossal  horses.  There  were 
six  and  twenty  squadrons  of  them;  and  they  had  be- 
hind them  to  support  them  Lefebvre-Desnouette's  Di- 
vision— the  one  hundred  and  six  picked  gendarmes,  the 
light  cavalry  of  the  Guard,  eleven  hundred  and  ninety- 
seven  men,  and  the  lancers  of  the  guard  of  eight  hundred 
and  eighty  lances.  They  wore  casques  without  horse- 
tails, and  cuirasses,  of  beaten  iron,  with  horse-pistols  in 

21 


FAMOUS   TALES   OF    BATTLi:,    CAMP   AND   SIEGE. 

their  holsters,  and  long  sabre-swords.  That  morning 
the  whole  army  had  admired  them,  when,  at  nine 
o'clock,  with  braying  of  trumpets  and  all  the  music 
playing,  "Let  Us  Watch  O'er  the  Safety  of  the  Em- 
pire," they  had  come  in  a  solid  column,  with  one  of 
their  batteries  on  their  flank,  another  in  their  centre, 
and  deployed  in  two  ranks  between  the  roads  to  Ge- 
nappe  and  Frischemont,  and  taken  up  their  position 
for  battle  in  that  powerful  second  line,  so  cleverly  ar- 
ranged by  Napoleon,  which,  having  on  its  extreme 
left  Kellermann's  cuirassiers  and  on  its  extreme  right 
Milhaud's  cuirassiers,  had,  so  to  speak,  two  wings  of 
iron. 

Aide-de-Camp  Bernard  carried  them  the  Emperor's 
orders.  Ney  drew  his  sword  and  placed  himself  at 
their  head.  The  enormous  squadrons  were  set  in  mo- 
tion. 

Then  a  formidable  spectacle  was  seen. 

All  their  cavalry,  with  upraised  swords,  standards 
and  trumpets  flung  to  the  breeze,  formed  in  columns 
by  divisions,  descended,  by  a  simultaneous  movement 
and  like  one  man,  with  the  precision  of  a  brazen  bat- 
tering-ram, which  is  effecting  a  breach,  the  hill  of  La 
Belle  Alliance,  plunged  into  the  terrible  depths  in 
which  so  many  men  had  already  fallen,  disappeared 
there  in  the  smoke,  then  emerging  from  that  shadow, 
reappeared  on  the  other  side  of  the  valley,  still  com- 
pact and  in  close  ranks,  mounting  at  a  full  trot,  through 
a  storm  of  grape-shot  which  burst  upon  them,  the 
terrible  muddy  slope  of  the  table-land  of  Mont-Saint- 
Jean.  They  ascended,  grave,  threatening,  imperturb- 
able; in  the  intervals  between  the  musketry  and  the 
artillery,  their  colossal  trampling  was  audible.  Being 
two  divisions,  there  were  two  columns  of  them;  Wa- 
thier's  division  held  the  right,  Delort's  division  was 
on  the  left.     It  seemed  as  though  two  immense  adders 


WATERLOO. 

of  steel  were  to  be  seen  crawling  towards  the  crest  of 
the  tabla-land.    It  traversed  the  battle  like  a  prodigy. 

Nothing  like  it  had  been  seen  since  the  taking  of  the 
great  redoubt  of  the  Moskowa  by  the  heavy  cavalry; 
Murat  was  lacking  here,  but  Ney  was  again  present. 
It  seemed  as  though  that  mass  had  become  a  monster 
and  had  but  one  soul.  Each  column  undulated  and 
swelled  like  the  ring  of  a  polyp.  They  could  be  seen 
through  a  vast  cloud  of  smoke,  which  was  rent  here 
and  there.  A  confusion  of  helmets,  of  cries,  of  sabres, 
a  stormy  heaving  of  the  cruppers  of  horses  amid  the 
cannons  and  the  flourish  of  trumpets,  a  terrible  and 
disciplined  tumult;  over  all,  the  cuirasses  like  the  scales 
on  the  hydra. 

Odd  numerical  coincidence — twenty-six  battalions 
rode  to  meet  twenty-six  battalions.  Behind  the  crest 
of  the  plateau,  in  the  shadow  of  the  masked  battery, 
the  English  infantry,  formed  into  thirteen  squares,  two 
battalions  to  the  square,  in  two  lines,  with  seven  in  the 
first  line,  six  in  the  second,  the  stocks  of  their  guns  to 
their  shoulders,  taking  aim  at  that  which  was  on  the 
point  of  appearing,  waited,  calm,  mute,  motionless. 
They  did  not  see  the  cuirassiers,  and  the  cuirassiers 
did  not  see  them.  They  listened  to  the  rise  of  this 
flood  of  men.  They  heard  the  swelling  noise  of  three 
thousand  horse,  the  alternate  and  symmetrical  tramp 
of  their  hoofs  at  full  trot,  the  jingling  of  the  cuirasses, 
the  clang  of  the  sabres,  and  a  sort  of  grand  and  savage 
breathing.  There  ensued  a  most  terrible  silence;  then, 
all  at  once,  a  long  file  of  uplifted  arms,  brandishing 
sabres,  appeared  above  the  crest,  and  casques,  trum- 
pets and  standards,  and  three  thousand  heads  with  gray 
mustaches,  shouting,  "Vive  I'Empereur!"  All  this  cav- 
alry debouched  on  the  plateau,  and  it  was  like  the  ap- 
pearance of  an  earthquake. 

All  at  once  a  tragic  incident;  on  the  English  left,  on 

23 


FAMOUS  TALES  OF   BATTLE,   CAMP  AND   SIEGE. 

our  right,  the  head  of  the  column  of  cuirassiers  reared 
up  with  a  frightful  clamor.  On  arriving  at  the  cul- 
minating point  of  the  crest,  ungovernable,  utterly  given 
over  to  fury  and  their  course  of  extermination  of  the 
squares  and  cannon,  the  cuirassiers  had  just  caught 
sight  of  a  trench — a  trench  between  them  and  the  En- 
glish.    It  was  the  hollow  road  of  Ohain. 

It  was  a  terrible  moment.  The  ravine  was  there,  un- 
expected, yawning,  directly  under  the  horses'  feet,  two 
fathoms  deep  between  its  double  slopes;  the  second 
file  pushed  the  first  into  it,  and  the  third  pushed  on  the 
second;  the  horses  reared  and  fell  backward,  landed  on 
their  haunches,  slid  down,  all  four  feet  in  the  air, 
crushing  and  overwhelming  the  riders;  and  there  being 
no  means  of  retreat — the  whole  column  being  no  longer 
anything  mere  than  a  projectile — the  force  which  had 
been  acquired  to  crush  the  English  crushed  the  French; 
the  inexorable  ravine  could  only  yield  when  filled; 
horses  and  riders  rolled  there  pell-mell,  grinding  each 
other,  forming  but  one  mass  of  flesh  in  this  gulf;  when 
this  trench  was  full  of  living  men,  the  rest  marched 
over  them  and  passed  on.  Almost  a  third  of  Dubois's 
brigade  fell  into  that  abyss. 

This  began  the  loss  of  the  battle. 

The  battery  was  unmasked  at  the  same  moment  with 
the  ravine. 

Sixty  cannons  and  the  thirteen  squares  darted  light- 
ning point-blank  on  the  cuirassiers.  The  intrepid  Gen- 
eral Delort  made  the  military  salute  to  the  English 
battery. 

The  whole  of  the  flying  artillery  of  the  English  had 
re-entered  the  squares  at  a  gallop.  The  cuirassiers  had 
not  had  even  the  time  for  a  halt.  The  disaster  of  the 
hollow  road  had  decimated,  but  not  discouraged  them. 
They  belonged  to  that  class  of  men  who,  when  dimin- 
ished in  number,  increase  in  courage. 

24 


i 
j 


'  Charge  of  the  Cuirassiers — Waterloo 


1  riving  at  th- 


>vas  there,  un- 
rses'  feet,  two 
>;  the  second 
pushed  on  the 
.ifd,  landed  on 
et  in  the  air, 
■'  '  'here  being 
ro  longer 


.   Liiem. 
n  dimin- 


WATERLOO 

Wathier's  column  alone  had  suffered  in  the  disaster; 
Delort's  column,  which  Ney  had  deflected  to  the  left, 
as  though  he  had  a  presentiment  of  an  ambush,  had 
arrived  whole. 

The  cuirassiers  hurled  themselves  on  the  English 
squares. 

At  full  speed,  with  bridles  loose,  swords  in  their 
teeth,  pistols  in  fist — such  was  the  attack. 

There  are  moments  in  battles  in  which  the  soul  hard- 
ens the  man  until  the  soldier  is  changed  into  a  statue, 
and  when  all  this  flesh  turns  into  granite.  The  Eng- 
lish battalions,  desperately  assaulted,  did  not  stir. 

Then  it  was  terrible. 

All  the  faces  of  the  English  squares  were  attacked  at 
once.  A  frenzied  whirl  enveloped  them.  That  cold 
infantry  remained  impassive.  The  first  rank  knelt  and 
received  the  cuirassiers  on  their  bayonets,  the  second 
ranks  shot  them  down;  behind  the  second  rank  the  can- 
noneers charged  their  guns,  the.  front  of  the  square 
parted,  permitted  the  passage  of  an  eruption  of  grape- 
shot,  and  closed  again.  The  cuirassiers  replied  by 
crushing  them.  Their  great  horses  reared,  strode  across 
the  ranks,  leaped  over  the  bayonets  and  fell,  gigantic, 
in  the  midst  of  these  four  living  walls.  The  cannon- 
balls  ploughed  furrows  in  these  cuirassiers;  the  cuiras- 
siers made  breaches  in  the  squares.  Files  of  men  dis- 
appeared, ground  to  dust  under  the  horses.  The  bay- 
onets plunged  into  the  bellies  of  these  centaurs;  hence 
a  hideousness  of  wounds  which  has  probably  never 
been  seen  anywhere  else.  The  squares,  wasted  by  this 
mad  cavalry,  closed  up  their  ranks  without  flinching. 
Inexhaustible  in  the  matter  of  grape-shot,  they  created 
explosions  in  their  assailants'  midst.  The  form  of  this 
combat  was  monstrous.  These  squares  were  no  longer 
battalions,  they  were  craters;  those  cuirassiers  were  no 
longer  cavalry,  they  were  a  tempest.     Each  square  was 

25 


FAMOUS  TALES   OF   BATTLE,   CAMP  AiND   SIEGE. 

a  volcano  attacked  by  a  cloud;  lava  contended  with 
lightning. 

The  square  on  the  extreme  right,  the  most  exposed  of 
all,  being  in  the  air,  was  almost  annihilated  at  the  very 
first  shock.  It  was  formed  of  the  75th  regiment  of 
Highlanders.  The  bagpipe-player  in  the  centre  dropped 
his  melancholy  eyes,  filled  with  the  reflections  of  the 
forests  and  the  lakes,  in  profound  inattention,  while 
men  were  being  exterminated  around  him,  and  seated 
on  a  drum,  with  his  pibroch  under  his  arm,  played  the 
Highland  airs.  These  Scotchmen  died  thinking  of  Ben 
Lomond  as  did  the  Greeks  recalling  Argos.  The  sword 
of  a  cuirassier,  which  hewed  down  the  bagpipes  and  the 
arm  which  bore  it,  put  an  end  to  the  song  by  killing 
the  singer. 

The  cuirassiers,  relatively  few  in  number,  and  still 
further  diminished  by  the  catastrophe  of  the  ravine, 
had  almost  the  whole  English  army  against  them,  but 
they  multiplied  themselves  so  that  each  man  of  them 
was  equal  to  ten.  Nevertheless,  some  Hanoverian  bat- 
talions yielded.  Wellington  perceived  it,  and  thought 
of  his  cavalry.  Had  Napoleon  at  that  same  moment 
thought  of  his  infantry,  he  would  have  won  the  battle. 
This  forgetfulncss  was  his  great  and  fatal  mistake. 

All  at  once,  the  cuirassiers,  who  had  been  the  assail- 
ants, found  themselves  assailed.  The  English  cavalry 
was  at  their  back.  Before  them  two  squares,  behind 
them  Somerset;  Somerset  meant  fourteen  hundred 
dragoons  of  the  guard.  On  the  right  Somerset  had 
Dornberg  with  the  German  light-horse,  and  on  his  left 
Trip  with  the  Belgian  carabineers;  the  cuirassiers,  at- 
tacked on  the  flank  and  in  front,  before  and  in  the  rear, 
by  infantry  and  cavalry,  had  to  face  all  sides.  What 
mattered  it  to  them?  They  were  a  whirlwind.  Their 
valor  was  something  iiulescribable. 

For  such  Frenchmen  nothing  less  than  such  English- 

26 


WATERLOO. 

men  was  needed.  It  was  no  longer  a  hand-to-hand  con- 
flict; it  was  a  shadow,  a  fury,  a  dizzy  transport  of  souls 
and  courage,  a  hurricane  of  lightning  swords.  In  an  in- 
stant the  fourteen  hundred  dragoon  guards  numbered 
only  eight  hundred.  Fuller,  their  lieutenant-colonel, 
fell  dead.  Ney  rushed  up  with  the  lancers  and  Lefe- 
bvre-Desnouettes's  light-horse.  The  plateau  of  Mont- 
Saint-Jean  was  captured,  recaptured,  captured  again. 
The  cuirassiers  quitted  the  cavalry  to  return  to  the 
infantry;  or,  to  put  it  more  exactly,  the  whole  of  that 
formidable  rout  collared  each  other  without  releasing 
the  other.    The  squares  still  held  firm. 

There  were  a  dozen  assaults.  Ney  had  four  horses 
killed  under  him.  Half  the  cuirassiers  remained  on  the 
plateau.    This  conflict  lasted  two  hours. 

The  English  army  was  profoundly  shaken.  There  is 
no  doubt  that,  had  they  not  been  enfeebled  in  their  first 
shock  by  the  disaster  of  the  hollow  road,  the  cuirassiers 
would  have  overwhelmed  the  centre  and  decided  the 
victory.  This  extraordinary  cavalry  petrified  Clinton, 
who  had  seen  Talavera  and  Badajoz.  Wellington, 
three-quarters  vanquished,  admired  heroically.  He  said 
in  an  undertone,  "Sublime!" 

The  cuirassiers  annihilated  seven  squares  out  of  thir- 
teen, took  or  spiked  sixty  pieces  of  ordnance,  and  cap- 
tured from  the  English  regiments  six  flags,  which  three 
cuirassiers  and  three  chasseurs  of  the  Guard  bore  to  the 
Emperor,  in  front  of  the  farm  of  La  Belle  Alliance. 

Wellington's  situation  had  grown  worse.  This 
strange  battle  was  like  a  duel  between  two  raging, 
wounded  men,  each  of  whom,  still  fighting  and  still 
resisting,  is  expending  all  his  blood. 

Which  of  the  two  will  be  the  first  to  fall? 

The  conflict  on  the  plateau  continued. 

Wellington  felt  that  he  was  yielding.  The  crisis  was 
at   hand. 


27 


FAMOUS  TALES   OF   BATTLE,   CAMP  AND   SIEGE. 

The  cuirassiers  had  not  succeeded,  since  the  centre 
was  not  broken  through.  As  every  one  was  in  posses- 
sion of  the  plateau,  no  one  held  it,  and,  in  fact,  it  re- 
mained, to  a  great  extent,  with  the  English.  Welling- 
ton held  the  village  and  the  culminating  plain;  Ney  had 
only  the  crest  and  the  slope.  They  seemed  rooted  in 
that  fatal  soil  on  both  sides. 

But  the  weakening  of  the  English  seemed  irremedi- 
able. The  bleeding  of  that  army  was  horrible.  Kempt, 
on  the  left  wing,  demanded  reinforcements.  "There 
are  none,"  replied  Wellington;  "he  must  let  himself  be 
killed!"  Almost  at  that  same  moment,  a  singular 
coincidence  which  paints  the  exhaustion  of  the  two 
armies.  Ney  demanded  infantry  from  Napoleon,  and 
Napoleon  exclaimed,  "Infantry!  Where  does  he  ex- 
pect me  to  get  it?     Does  he  think  I  can  make  it?" 

Nevertheless,  the  English  army  was  in  the  worse  case 
of  the  two.  The  furious  onsets  of  those  great  squad- 
rons with  cuirasses  of  iron  and  breasts  of  steel  had 
ground  the  infantry  to  nothing.  A  few  men  clustered 
round  a  flag  marked  the  post  of  a  regiment;  such  and 
such  a  battalion  w^as  commanded  only  by  a  captain  or  a 
lieutenant;  Alten's  division,  already  so  roughly  handled 
at  La  Haie-Sainte,  was  almost  destroyed;  the  intrepid 
Belgians  of  Van  Kluze's  brigade  strewed  the  rye  fields 
all  along  the  Nivilles  road;  hardly  anything  was  left 
of  those  Dutch  grenadiers,  who,  intermingled  with 
Spaniards  in  our  ranks  in  1811,  fought  against  Welling- 
ton; and  who,  in  1815,  rallied  to  the  English  standard, 
fought  against  Napoleon. 

The  second  regiment  of  foot-guards  had  lost  five 
lieutenant-colonels,  four  captains,  and  three  ensigns; 
the  first  battalion  of  the  30th  infantry  had  lost  24  offi- 
cers and  1,200  soldiers;  the  79th  Highlanders  had  lost 
24  officers  wounded,  18  officers  killed,  450  soldiers 
killed. 

28 


WATERLOO. 

With  the  exception  of  the  feeble  reserve  echelonned 
behind  the  ambulance  established  at  the  farm  of  Mont- 
Saint-Jean,  and  of  Vivian's  and  Vandeleur's  brigades, 
which  flanked  the  left  wing,  Wellington  had  no  cavalry- 
left.  A  number  of  batteries  lay  unhorsed.  These  facts 
are  attested  by  Siborne;  and  Pringle,  exaggerating  the 
disaster,  goes  so  far  as  to  say  that  the  Anglo-Dutch 
army  was  reduced  to  thirty-four  thousand  men.  The 
Iron  Duke  remained  calm,  but  his  lips  blanched.  Vin- 
cent, the  Austrian  commissioner,  Alava,  the  Spanish 
commissioner,  who  were  present  at  the  battle  on  the 
English  stafif.  thought  the  Duke  lost.  At  five  o'clock 
Wellington  drew  out  his  watch,  and  he  was  heard  to 
murmur  these  sinister  words,   "BUicher,  or  night!" 

It  was  about  that  moment  that  a  distant  line  of  bayo- 
nets gleamed  on  the  heights  in  the  direction  of  Frische- 
mont. 

Here  comes  the  change  of  face  in  this  giant  drama. 

The  painful  surprise  of  Napoleon  is  well  known. 
Grouchy  hoped  for,  Bliicher  arriving.  Death  instead 
of  life. 

Fate  has  these  turns;  the  throne  of  the  world  was 
expected;  it  was  Saint  Helena  that  was  seen. 

If  the  little  shepherd  who  served  as  guide  to  Biilow, 
Bliicher's  lieutenant,  had  advised  him  to  debouch  from 
the  forest  above  Frischemont,  instead  of  below  Plance- 
noit,  the  form  of  the  nineteenth  century  might,  per- 
haps, have  been  different.  Napoleon  would  have  won 
the  battle  of  Waterloo.  By  any  other  route  than  that 
below  Plancenoit,  the  Prussian  army  would  have  come 
out  upon  a  ravine  impassable  for  artillery,  and  Biilow 
would  not  have  arrived. 

Now  the  Prussian  general,  Muffling,  declares  that  one 
hour's  delay,  and  Bliicher  would  not  have  found  Well- 
ington on  his  feet.     "The  battle  was  lost." 

It  was  time  that  Biilow  should  arrive,  as  will  be  seen. 

29 


FAMOUS  TALES   OF   BATTLE,   CAMl'   AND   SIEGE. 

He  had,  moreover,  been  very  much  delayed.  He  had 
bivouacked  at  Dion-le-Mont,  and  had  set  out  at  day- 
break; but  the  roads  were  impassable,  and  his  divisions 
stuck  fast  in  the  mire.  The  ruts  were  up  to  the  hubs 
of  the  cannons.  Moreover,  he  had  been  obliged  to  pass 
the  Dyle  on  the  narrow  bridge  of  Wavre;  the  street 
leading  to  the  bridge  had  been  fired  by  the  French,  so 
the  caissons  and  ammunition  wagons  could  not  pass 
between  two  rows  of  burning  houses,  and  had  been 
obliged  to  wait  until  the  conflagration  was  extin- 
guished. It  was  mid-day  before  Billow's  vanguard  had 
been  able  to  reach  Chapelle-Saint-Lambert. 

Had  the  action  been  begun  two  hours  earlier,  it  would 
have  been  over  at  four  o'clock,  and  Bli'icher  would  have 
fallen  on  the  battle  won  by  Napoleon.  Such  are  these 
immense  risks  proportioned  to  an  infinite  which  we 
cannot  comprehend. 

Billow  had  not  moved,  in  fact.  His  vanguard  was 
very  feeble,  and  could  accomplish  nothing.  He  was 
obliged  to  wait  for  the  body  of  the  army  corps,  and  he 
had  received  orders  to  concentrate  his  forces  before  en- 
tering into  line;  but  at  five  o'clock,  perceiving  Well- 
ington's peril,  Bliicher  ordered  Billow  to  attack,  and 
uttered  these  remarkable  words:  "We  must  give  air  to 
the  English  army." 

A  little  later,  the  divisions  of  Losthin,  Hiller,  Hacke 
and  Ryssel  deployed  before  Lobau's  corps,  the  cavalry 
of  Prince  William  of  Prussia  debouched  from  the  forest 
of  Paris,  Plancenoit  was  in  flames,  and  the  Prussian 
cannon  balls  began  to  rain  even  upon  the  ranks  of  the 
guard  in  reserve  behind  Napoleon. 

Every  one  knows  the  rest — the  irruption  of  a  third 
army;  the  battle  broken  to  pieces;  eighty-six  mouths 
of  fire  thundering  simultaneously;  Pirch  the  first  com- 
ing up  with  Billow;  Zieten's  cavalry  led  by  Bliicher  in 
person,  the  French  driven  bick;  Marcognet  swept  from 

30 


fe-^ 


Heroes  of  Waterloo 


1    was     e.xiiii- 
;uard  had 

.  it  would 
lyuld  have 
arc  these 


;rd 

ths 


WATERLOO. 

the  plateau  of  Ohain;  Duruette  dislodged  from  Pape- 
lotte;  Donzelot  and  Quiot  retreating;  Lobau  caught  on 
the  flank;  a  fresh  battle  precipitating  itself  on  our  dis- 
mantled regiments  at  nightfall;  the  whole  English  line 
resuming  the  offensive  and  thrust  forward;  the  gigantic 
breach  made  in  the  French  army;  the  English  grape- 
shot  and  the  Prussian  grape-shot  aiding  each  other; 
the  extermination;  disaster  in  front;  disaster  on  the 
flank;  the  Guard  entering  the  line  in  the  midst  of  this 
terrible  crumbling  of  all  things. 

Conscious  that  they  were  about  to  die,  they  shouted, 
"Vive  I'Empereur!"  History  records  nothing  more 
touching  than  that  agony  bursting  forth  in  acclama- 
tions. 

The  sky  had  been  overcast  all  day  long.  All  of  a 
sudden,  at  that  very  moment, — it  was  eight  o'clock 
in  the  evening — the  clouds  on  the  horizon  parted,  and 
allowed  the  grand  and  sinister  glow  of  the  setting  sun 
to  pass  through,  athwart  the  elms  on  the  Nivelles  road. 
They  had  seen  it  rise  at  Austerlitz. 

Each  battalion  of  the  Guard  was  commanded  by  a 
general  for  this  final  catastrophe.  Friant,  Michel, 
Roguet,  Harlet,  Mallet.  Poret  de  Morvan  were  there. 
When  the  tall  caps  of  the  grenadiers  of  the  Guard,  with 
their  large  plaques  bearing  the  eagle,  appeared,  sym- 
metrical, in  line,  tranquil,  in  the  midst  of  that  combat, 
the  enemy  felt  a  respect  for  France;  they  thought  they 
beheld  twenty  victories  entering  the  field  of  battle,  with 
wings  outspread,  and  those  who  were  the  conquerors, 
believing  themselves  to  be  vanquished,  retreated;  but 
Wellington  shouted,  "Up,  Guards,  and  aim  straight!" 
The  red  regiment  of  English  guards,  lying  flat  behind 
the  hedges,  sprang  up,  a  cloud  of  grape-shot  riddled 
the  tricolor  flag  and  whistled  round  our  eagles;  all 
hurled  themselves  forward,  and  the  final  carnage  began. 
In  the  darkness  the  Imperial   Guard  felt  the   army  losing 

31 


FAMOUS  TALES   OF   BATTLE,   CAMP   AND   SIEGE. 

ground  around  it,  and  in  the  vast  shock  of  the  rout  it 
heard  the  desperate  flight  which  had  taken  the  place  of 
the  "Vive  rEmpereur!"  and,  with  flight  behind  it,  it 
continued  to  advance,  more  crushed,  losing  more  men 
at  every  step  that  it  took.  There  were  none  who  hesi- 
tated, no  timid  men  in  its  ranks.  The  soldier  in  that 
troop  was  as  much  of  a  hero  as  the  general.  Not  a 
man  was  missing  in  that  suicide. 

Ney.  bewildered,  great  with  all  the  grandeur  of  ac- 
cepted death,  offered  himself  to  all  blows  in  that  tem- 
pest. He  had  his  fifth  horse  killed  under  him  there. 
Perspiring,  his  eyes  aflame,  foaming  at  the  mouth,  with 
uniform  unbuttoned,  one  of  his  epaulets  half  cut  ofi  by 
a  sword-stroke  from  a  horse-guard,  his  plaque  with  the 
great  eagle  dented  by  a  bullet;  bleeding,  bemired,  mag- 
nificent, a  broken  sword  in  his  hand,  he  said,  "Come 
and  see  how  a  Marshal  of  France  dies  on  the  field  of 
battle!"  But  in  vain;  he  did  not  die.  He  was  haggard 
and  angry.  At  Drouet  d'Erlon  he  hurled  this  question, 
"Are  you  not  going  to  get  yourself  killed?"  In  the 
midst  of  all  that  artillery  engaged  in  crushing  a  handful 
of  men,  he  shouted:  "So  there  is  nothing  for  me!  Oh! 
I  should  like  to  have  all  these  English  bullets  enter  my 
bowels!"  Unhappy  man,  thou  wert  reserved  for  French 
bullets! 

The  rout  behind  the  Guard  was  melancholy. 

The  army  yielded  suddenly  on  all  sides  at  once — Hou- 
gomont.  La  Haie-Sante,  Papelotte,  Plancenoit.  The 
cry,  "Treachery!"  was  followed  by  a  cry  of  "Save  your- 
selves who  can!"  An  army  which  is  disbanding  is  like 
a  thaw.  All  yields,  splits,  cracks,  floats,  rolls,  falls, 
jostles,  hastens,  is  precipitated.  The  disintegration  is 
unprecedented.  Ney  borrows  a  horse,  leaps  upon  it, 
and  without  hat,  cravat,  or  sword,  places  himself  across 
the  Brussels  road,  stopping  both  English  and  French. 
He  strives  to  detain  the  army,  he  recalls  it  to  its  duty, 

32 


WATERLOO. 

he  insults  it,  he  clings  to  the  rout.  He  is  overwhelmed. 
The  soldiers  fly  from  him,  shouting,  "Long  live  Mar- 
shal Ney!"  Two  of  Burette's  regiments  go  and  come 
in  affright  as  though  tossed  back  and  forth  between  the 
swords  of  the  Uhlans  and  the  fusillade  of  the  brigades  of 
Kempt,  Best,  Pack  and  Rylandt;  the  worst  of  hand-to- 
hand-conflicts  is  the  defeat;  friends  kill  each  other  in  or- 
der to  escape;  squadrons  and  battalions  break  and  dis- 
perse against  each  other,  like  the  tremendous  foam  of 
battle.  Lobau  at  one  extremity,  and  Reille  at  the  other, 
are  drawn  into  the  tide.  In  vain  does  Napoleon  erect 
walls  from  what  is  left  to  hirrr  of  his  Guard;  in  vain  does 
he  expend  in  a  last  effort  his  last  serviceable  squadrons. 
Quiot  retreats  before  Vivian,  Kellermann  before  Van- 
deleur,  Lobau  before  Biilow,  Morand  before  Pirch, 
Domon  and  Subervic  before  Prince  William  of  Prussia; 
Guyot,  who  led  the  Emperor's  squadrons  to  the  charge, 
falls  beneath  the  feet  of  the  English  dragoons.  Na- 
poleon gallops  past  the  line  of  fugitives,  harangues, 
urges,  threatens,  entreats  them.  All  the  mouths  which 
in  the  morning  had  shouted,  "Long  live  the  Emperor!" 
remain  gaping;  they  hardly  recognize  him.  The  Prus- 
sian cavalry,  newly  arrived,  dashes  forward,  flies,  hews, 
slashes,  kills,  exterminates.  Horses  lash  out,  the  can- 
nons flee;  the  soldiers  of  the  artillery-train  unharness 
the  caissons  and  use  the  horses  to  make  their  escape; 
transports  overturned,  with  all  four  wheels  in  the  air, 
clog  the  road  and  occasion  massacres.  Men  are 
crushed,  trampled  down;  others  walk  over  the  dead  and 
the  living.  Arms  are  lost.  A  dizzy  multitude  fills  the 
roads,  the  paths,  the  bridges,  the  plains,  the  hills,  the 
valleys,  the  woods,  encumbered  by  this  invasion  of  forty 
thousand  men.  Shouts,  despair,  knapsacks  and  guns 
flung  among  the  rye,  passages  forced  at  the  point  of  the 
sword,  no  more  comrades,  no  more  ofificers,  no  more 
generals,     an     inexpressible     terror.       Zieten     putting 

33 


FAMOUS  TALES   OF   BATTLE,   CAMP  AND   SIEGE. 

France  to  the  sword  at  its  leisure.  Lions  converted 
into  goats.     Such  was  the  flight. 

At  Genappe  an  effort  was  made  to  wheel  about,  to 
present  a  battle  front,  to  draw  up  in  line.  Lobau  rallied 
three  hundred  men.  The  entrance  to  the  village  was 
barricaded,  but  at  the  first  volley  of  Prussiaji  canister 
all  took  to  flight  again,  and  Lobau  was  taken.  That  volley 
of  grape-shot  can  be  seen  to-day  imprinted  on  the  an- 
cient gable  of  a  brick  building  on  the  right  of  the  road 
at  a  few  minutes'  distance  before  you  enter  Genappe. 
The  Prussians  threw  themselves  into  Genappe,  furious, 
no  doubt,  that  they  were  not  more  entirely  the  con- 
querors. The  pursuit  was  stupendous.  Bliicher  ordered 
extermination.  Roguet  had  set  the  lugubrious  example  of 
threatening  with  death  any  French  grenadier  who  should 
bring  him  a  Prussian  prisoner.  Bliicher  outdid  Roguet. 
Duhesme,  the  general  of  the  Young  Guard,  hemmed  in 
at  the  doorway  of  an  inn  at  Genappe.  surrendered  his 
sword  to  a  hussar  of  death,  who  took  the  sword  and 
slew  the  prisoner.  The  victory  was  completed  by  the 
assassination  of  the  vanquished.  Let  us  inflict  punish- 
ment, since  we  are  history:  old  Bliicher  disgraced  him- 
self. This  ferocity  put  the  finishing  touch  to  the  disas- 
ter. The  desperate  rout  traversed  Genappe,  traversed 
Quatre-Bras,  traversed  Gosselies,  traversed  Frasnes, 
traversed  Charleroi,  traversed  Thuin  and  only  halted 
at  the  frontier.  Alas!  and  who,  then,  was  fleeing  in  that 
manner?    The  Grand  Army. 

Several  squares  of  the  Guard,  motionless  amid  this 
stream  of  the  defeat,  as  rocks  in  running  water,  held 
their  own  until  night.  Night  came,  death  also;  they 
awaited  that  double  shadow,  and,  invincible,  allowed 
themselves  to  be  enveloped  therein.  Each  regiment, 
isolated  from  the  rest,  and  having  no  bond  with  the 
army,  now  shattered  in  every  part,  died  alone.  They 
had  taken  up  position  for  this  final  action,  some  on  the 


34 


The  Day  after  Waterloo 


•S&3 


w^-aor  ;w  ■;; .  -^  ■'..   .jrwr*--:t  ^.^vr^.  j 


dered 


WATERLOO. 

heights  of  Rossomme,  others  on  the  plain  of  Mont- 
Saint-Jean.  There,  abandoned,  vanquished,  terrible, 
those  gloomy  squares  endured  their  death-throes  in 
formidable  fashion.  Ulm,  Wagram,  Jena,  Friedland 
died  with  them. 

At  twilight,  toward  nine  o'clock  in  the  evening,  one 
of  them  was  left  at  the  foot  of  the  plateau  of  Mont- 
Saint-Jean.  In  that  valley,  at  the  foot  of  that  declivity 
which  the  cuirassiers  had  ascended,  now  inundated  by 
the  masses  of  the  English,  under  the  converging  fires 
of  the  victorious  hostile  cavalry,  under  a  frightful  dens- 
ity of  projectiles,  this  square  fought  on.  It  was  com- 
manded by  an  obscure  officer  named  Cambronne.  At 
each  discharge  the  square  diminished  and  replied.  It 
replied  to  the  grape-shot  with  a  fusillade,  continually 
contracting  its  four  walls.  The  fugitives  pausing, 
breathless  for  a  moment  in  the  distance,  listened  in  the 
darkness  to  the  gloomy  and  ever-decreasing  thunder. 

When  this  legion  had  been  reduced  to  a  handful, 
when  nothing  was  left  of  their  flag  but  a  rag,  when  their 
guns,  the  bullets  all  gone,  were  no  longer  anything 
but  clubs,  when  the  heap  of  corpses  was  larger  than 
the  group  of  survivors,  there  reigned  among  the  con- 
querors, around  those  men  dying  so  sublimely,  a  sort 
of  sacred  terror,  and  the  English  artillery,  taking 
breath,  became  silent.  This  furnished  a  sort  of  respite. 
These  combatants  had  around  them  something  in  the 
nature  of  a  swarm  of  spectres,  silhouettes  of  men  on 
horseback,  the  black  profiles  of  cannon,  the  white  sky 
viewed  through  wheels  and  gun-carriages,  the  colossal 
death's-head,  which  the  heroes  saw  constantly  through 
the  smoke,  in  the  depths  of  the  battle,  advanced  upon 
them  and  gazed  at  them.  Through  the  shades  of 
twilight  they  could  hear  the  pieces  being  loaded;  the 
matches  all  lighted,  like  the  eyes  of  tigers  at  night, 
formed  a  circle   round  their  heads;   all   the   lintstocks 


35 


FAMOUS  TALES  OF   BATTLE,   CAMP  AND   SIEGE. 

of  the  English  batteries  approached  the  cannons,  and 
then,  with  emotion,  holding  the  supreme  moment  sus- 
pended above  these  men,  an  English  general,  Colville, 
according  to  some,  Maitland  according  to  others, 
shouted    to    them,     "Surrender,    brave     Frenchmen!" 

Cambronne  replied,  " ." 

At  that  word  from  Cambronne.  the  English  voice 
responded,  "Fire!"  The  batteries  flamed,  the  hill  trem- 
bled, from  all  those  brazen  mouths  belched  a  last  terri- 
ble gush  of  grape-shot;  a  vast  volume  of  smoke,  vaguely 
white  in  the  light  of  the  rising  moon,  rolled  out,  and 
when  the  smoke  dispersed  there  was  no  longer  anything 
there.  That  formidable  remnant  had  been  annihilated; 
the  Guard  was  dead.  The  four  walls  of  the  living  re- 
doubt lay  prone,  and  hardly  was  there  discernible,  here 
and  there,  even  a  quiver  in  the  bodies;  it  was  thus  that 
the  French  legions,  greater  than  the  Roman  legions, 
expired  on  Mont-Saint-Jean,  on  the  soil  watered  with 
rain  and  blood,  amid  the  gloomy  grain,  on  the  spot 
where  nowadays  Joseph,  who  drives  the  post-wagon 
from  Nivelles,  passes  whistling,  and  cheerfully  whip- 
ping up  his  horse  at  four  o'clock  in  the  morning. 

And  these  things  took  place,  and  the  kings  resumed 
their  thrones,  and  the  master  of  Europe  was  put  in  a 
cage,  and  the  old  regime  became  the  new  regime,  and 
all  the  shadows  and  all  the  light  of  the  earth  changed 
place,  because,  on  an  afternoon  of  a  certain  summer's 
day,  a  shepherd  said  to  a  Prussian  in  the  forest,  "Go  this 
way,  and  not  that !" 


36 


BALAKLAVA 


BALAKLAVA 

William  Hoiuard  Russell 


nEVER  did  the  painter's  eye  rest  on  a  more  beautiful 
scene  that  I  beheld  from  the  ridge. ^  The  fleecy 
vapors  still  hung  around  the  mountain  tops,  and 
mingled  with  the  ascending  volumes  of  smoke;  the 
speck  of  sea  sparkled  freshly  in  the  rays  of  the  morn- 
ing sun,  but  its  light  was  eclipsed  by  the  flashes  which 
gleamed  from  the  masses  of  armed  men  below. 

Looking  to  the  left  towards  the  gorge,  we  beheld  six 
compact  masses  of  Russian  infantry,  which  had  just 
debouched  from  the  mountain  passes  near  the  Tcher- 
naya,^  and  were  slowly  advancing  with  solemn  stateli- 
ness  up  the  valley.  Immediately  in  their  front  was  a 
regular  line  of  artillery,  of  at  least  twenty  pieces  strong. 
Two  batteries  of  light  guns  were  already  a  mile  in  ad- 
vance of  them,  and  were  playing  with  energy  on  the 
redoubts,  from  which  feeble  puff's  of  smoke  came  at 
long  intervals.  Behind  these  guns,  in  front  of  the 
infantry,  were  enormous  bodies  of  cavalry.  They  were 
in  six  compact  squares,  three  on  each  flank,  moving 
down  en  echelon  towards  us,  and  the  valley  was  lit 
up  with  the  blaze  of  their  sabres  and  lance  points  and 
gay  accoutrements.  In  their  front,  and  extending  along 
the  intervals  between  each  battery  of  guns,  were  clouds 

'  Above  the  plain  of  Ralaklava. 

'  The  stream  which  passed  through  the  vr.lley  of  Balaklava. 

39 


FAMOUS  TALES  OF   BATTLE.   CAMP  AND   SIEG^ 

of  mounted  skirmishers,  wheeling  and  wnirling  in  the 
front  of  their  march  like  autumn  leaves  tossed  by  the 
wind.  The  Zouaves*  close  to  us  were  lying  like  tigers 
at  the  spring,  with  ready  rifles  in  hand,  hidden  chin- 
deep  by  the  earthworks  which  run  along  the  line  of 
these  ridges  on  our  rear,  but  the  quick-eyed  Russians 
were  maneuvering  on  the  other  side  of  the  valley  and 
did  not  expose  their  columns  to  attack.  Below  the 
Zouaves  we  could  see  the  Turkish  gunners  in  the  re- 
doubts;^ all  is  confusion  as  the  shells  burst  over  them. 
Just  as  I  came  up  the  Russians  had  carried  No.  i 
redoubt,  the  farthest  and  most  elevated  of  all,  and  their 
horsemen  were  chasing  the  Turks  across  the  interval 
which  lay  between  it  and  redoubt  No.  2.  At  that 
moment  the  cavalry,  under  Lord  Lucan,  were  formed 
in  glittering  masses — the  Light  Brigade,  under  Lord 
Cardigan,  in  advance;  the  Heavy  Brigade,  under  Brig- 
adier-General Scarlett,  in  reserve.  They  were  drawn 
up  just  in  front  of  their  encampment,  and  were  con- 
cealed from  the  view  of  the  enemy  by  a  slight  "wave"  in 
the  plain.  Considerably  to  the  rear  of  their  right,  the 
93d  Highlanders  were  drawn  up  in  line,  in  front  of  the 
approach  to  Balaklava.  Above  and  behind  them,  on 
the  heights,  the  marines  were  visible  through  the  glass, 
drawn  up  under  arms,  and  the  gunners  could  be  seen 
ready  in  the  earthworks,  in  which  were  placed  the 
heavy  ship's  guns.  The  93d  had  originally  been  ad- 
vanced somewhat  more  into  the  plain,  but  the  instant 
the  Russians  got  possession  of  the  first  redoubt  they 
opened  fire  on  them  from  our  own  guns,  which  in- 
flicted some  injury,  and  Sir  Colin  CampbelP  "retired" 
his  men  to  a  better  position.     Meanwhile  the   enemy 

*  French  troops  from  Algeria. 

'  The  plain  was  defended  by  redoubts  manned  by  Turkish  Troops. 
^  Commander  of  the  Highlanders  in  the  Valley;  afterwards  Lord 
Clyde. 

40 


BALAKLAVA. 

advanced  his  cavalry  rapidly.  To  our  inexpressible 
disgust  we  saw  the  Turks  in  redoubt  No.  2  fly  at  their 
approach.  They  ran  in  scattered  groups  across  towards 
redoubt  No.  3,  and  towards  Balaklava,  but  the  horse 
hoo<^  of  the  Cossack  was  too  quick  for  them,  and  sword 
and  lance  were  busily  plied  among  the  retreating  herd. 
The  yells  of  the  pursuers  and  pursued  were  plainly 
audible.  As  the  lancers  and  light  cavalry  of  the  Rus- 
sians advanced  they  gathered  up  their  skirmishers  with 
great  speed  and  in  excellent  order — the  shifting  trails 
of  men,  which  played  all  over  the  valley  like  moon- 
light on  the  water,  contracted,  gathered  up.  and  the 
little  peleton  in  a  few  moments  became  a  solid  column. 
Then  up  came  their  guns,  in  rushed  their  gunners  to 
the  abandoned  redoubt,  and  the  guns  of  No.  2  redoubt 
soon  played  with  deadly  efifect  upon  the  dispirited  de- 
fenders of  No.  3  redoubt.  Two  or  three  shots  in  return 
from  the  earthworks,  and  all  is  silent.  The  Turks 
swarm  over  the  earthworks  and  run  in  confusion 
towards  the  town,  firing  their  muskets  at  the  enemy 
as  they  run.  Again  the  solid  column  of  cavalry  opens 
like  a  fan,  and  resolves  itself  into  a  long  spray  of 
skirmishers.  It  laps  the  flying  Turk,  steel  flashes  in 
the  air,  and  down  go  the  poor  Moslem  quivering  on 
the  plain,  split  through  fez  and  musket-guard  to  the 
chin  and  breast-belt. 

There  is  no  support  for  them.  It  is  evident  the  Rus- 
sians have  been  too  quick  for  us.  The  Turks  have 
been  too  quick  also,  for  they  have  not  held  their  re- 
doubts long  enough  to  enable  us  to  bring  them  help. 
In  vain  the  naval  guns  on  the  heights  fire  on  the 
Russian  cavalry;  the  distance  is  too  great  for  shot  or 
shell  to  reach.  In  vain  the  Turkish  gunners  in  the 
earthen  batteries  which  are  placed  along  the  French 
entrenchments  strive  to  protect  their  flying  country- 
men;   their  shot  fly  wide  and  short  of  the  swarming 


41 


FAMOUS   TALES   OI'   BATTLE,    CAMI'  AND    SIEGE. 

masses.  The  Turks  betake  themselves  towards  the 
Highlanders,  where  they  check  their  flight,  and  form 
into  companies  on  the  flanks  of  the  Highlanders. 
As  the  Russian  cavalry  on  the  left  of  their  line 
crown  the  hill  across  the  valley,  they  perceive 
the  Highlanders  drawn  up  at  a  distance  of  some  half 
mile,  calmly  waiting  their  approach.  They  halt,  and 
squadron  after  squadron  flies  up  from  the  rear,  till 
they  have  a  body  of  some  1,500  m.en  along  the  ridge — 
lancers  and  dragoons  and  hussars.  Then  they  move 
in  two  bodies  with  another  in  reserve.  The  cavalry 
who  have  been  pursuing  the  Turks  on  the  right  are 
coming  up  to  the  ridge  beneath  us,  which  conceals 
our  cavalry  from  view.  The  heavy  brigade  in  advance 
is  drawn  up  in  two  lines.  The  first  line  consists  of 
the  Scots  Greys,  and  of  their  old  companions  in  glory, 
the  Enniskillens;  the  second  of  the  4th  Royal  Irish,  of 
the  5th  Dragoon  Guards,  and  of  the  ist  Royal  Dra- 
goons. The  Light  Cavalry  Brigade  is  on  their  left,  in 
two  lines  also.  The  silence  is  oppressive;  between  the 
cannon  bursts  one  can  hear  the  champing  of  bits  and 
the  clink  of  sabres  in  the  valley  below.  The  Russians 
on  their  left  drew  breath  for  a  moment,  and  then  in 
one  grand  line  dashed  at  the  Highlanders.  The  ground 
flies  beneath  their  horses'  feet;  gathering  speed  at 
every  stride,  they  dash  on  towards  that  thin  red  streak 
topped  with  a  line  of  steel.  The  Turks  fire  a  volley 
at  eight  hundred  yards  and  run.  As  the  Russians  come 
within  six  hundred  yards,  down  goes  that  line  of  steel 
in  front,  and  out  rings  a  rolling  volley  of  Minie  mus- 
ketry. The  distance  is  too  great;  the  Russians  are  not 
checked,  but  still  sweep  onward  through  the  smoke, 
with  the  whole  force  of  horse  and  man,  here  and  there 
knocked  over  by  the  shot  of  our  batteries  above.  With 
breathless  suspense  every  one  awaits  the  bursting  of  the 
wave  upon  the  line  of  Gaelic  rock;    but  ere  they  come 


m 


Balaklava,   1854 


BALAKLAVA. 

within  one  hunJred  and  fifty  yards,  another  deadly 
volley  flashes  from  the  leveled  rifle,  and  carries  death 
and  terror  into  the  Russians.  They  wheel  about,  open 
files  right  and  left,  and  fly  back  faster  than  they  came. 
"Bravo,  Highlanders!  well  done!"  shout  the  excited 
spectators;  but  events  thicken.  The  Highlanders  and 
their  splendid  front  are  soon  forgotten,  men  scarcely 
have  a  moment  to  think  of  this  fact,  that  the  93d  never 
altered  their  formation  to  receive  that  tide  of  horse- 
men. "No,"  said  Sir  Colin  Campbell,  "I  did  not  think 
it  worth  while  to  form  them  even  four  deep!"  The 
ordinary  British  line,  two  deep,  was  quite  sufficient  to 
repel  the  attack  of  these  Muscovite  cavaliers. 

Our  eyes  were,  however,  turned  in  a  moment  on  our 
own  cavalry.  We  saw  Brigadier-General  Scarlett  ride 
along  in  front  of  his  massive  squadron.  The  Russians 
— evidently  corps  d'elite — their  light  blue  jackets  em- 
broidered with  silver  lace,  were  advancing  on  their  left, 
at  an  easy  gallop,  towards  the  brow  of  the  hill.  A 
forest  of  lances  glistened  in  their  rear,  and  several 
squadrons  of  grey-coated  dragoons  moved  up  quickly 
to  support  them  as  they  reached  the  summit.  The  in- 
stant they  came  in  sight  the  trumpets  of  our  cavalry 
gave  out  the  warning  blast  which  told  us  all  that  in 
another  moment  we  should  see  the  shock  of  battle 
beneath  our  very  eyes.  Lord  Raglan,^  all  his  stafif 
and  escort,  and  groups  of  officers.  Zouaves,  French 
generals  and  officers,  and  bodies  of  French  infantry  on 
the  height,  were  spectators  of  the  scene  as  though  they 
were  looking  on  the  stage  from  the  boxes  of  a  theatre. 
Nearly  every  one  dismounted  and  sat  down,  and  not 
a  word  was  said.  The  Russians  advanced  down  the  hill 
at  a  slow  canter,  which  they  changed  to  a  trot,  and  at 
last  nearly  halted.  Their  first  line  was  at  least  double 
the  length  of  ours — it  was  three  times  as  deep.  Behind 
•  Commander-in-chief  of  the  British  army. 

43 


FAMOUS  TALES   OF   BATTLE,   CAMP  AND   SIEGE 

them  was  a  similar  line,  equally  strong  and  compact. 
They  evidently  despised  their  insignificant-looking 
enemy,  but  their  time  was  come.  The  trumpets  rang 
out  again  through  the  valley,  and  the  Greys  and  Ennis- 
killeners  went  right  at  the  centre  of  the  Russian  cavalry. 
The  space  between  them  was  only  a  few  hundred  yards; 
it  was  scarce  enough  to  let  the  horses  "gather  away," 
nor  had  the  men  quite  space  sufficient  for  the  full  play 
of  their  sword  arms.  The  Russian  line  brings  forward 
each  wing  as  our  cavalry  advance,  and  threatens  to 
annihilate  them  as  they  pass  on.  Turning  a  little  to 
their  left,  so  as  to  meet  the  Russian  right,  the  Greys 
rush  on  with  a  cheer  that  thrills  to  every  heart — the 
wild  shout  of  the  Enniskilleners  rises  through  the  air 
at  the  same  instant.  As  lightning  flashes  through  a 
cloud,  the  Greys  and  Enniskilleners  pierced  through 
the  dark  masses  of  Russians.  The  shock  was  but  for  a 
moment.  There  was  a  clash  of  steel  and  a  light  play  of 
sword-blades  in  the  air,  and  then  the  Greys  and  the 
redcoats  disappear  in  the  midst  of  the  shaken  and  quiv- 
ering columns.  In  another  moment  we  see  them 
emerging  and  dashing  on  with  diminished  numbers, 
and  in  broken  order,  against  the  second  line  which  is 
advancing  against  them  as  fast  as  it  can  to  retrieve  the 
fortune  of  the  charge.  It  was  a  terrible  moment.  "God 
help  them!  they  are  lost!"  was  the  exclamation  of 
more  than  one  man  and  the  thought  of  many.  With 
unabated  fire  the  noble  hearts  dashed  at  their  enemy. 
It  was  a  fight  of  heroes.  The  first  line  of  Russians, 
which  had  been  smashed  utterly  by  our  charge,  and  had 
fled  off  at  one  flank  and  towards  the  centre,  were  com- 
ing back  to  swallow  up  our  handful  of  men.  By  sheer 
steel  and  sheer  courage  Enniskillener  and  Scot  were 
winning  their  desperate  way  right  through  the  enemy's 
squadrons,  and  already  grey  horses  and  red  coats  had 
appeared  right  at  the  rear  of  the  second  mass,  when. 


44 


BALAKI.AVA. 

with  irresistible  force,  like  one  bolt  from  a  bow,  the 
1st  Royals,  the  4th  Dragoon  Guards,  and  the  5th 
Dragoon  Guards,  rushed  at  the  remnants  of  the  first 
line  of  the  enemy,  went  through  it  as  though  it  were 
made  of  paste-board,  and  dashing  on  the  second  body 
of  Russians  as  they  were  still  disordered  by  the  terrible 
assault  of  the  Greys  and  their  companions,  put  them  to 
utter  rout.  This  Russian  horse  in  less  than  five  min- 
utes after  it  met  our  dragoons  was  frying  with  all  its 
speed  before  a  force  certainly  not  half  its  strength.  A 
cheer  burst  from  every  lip — in  the  enthusiasm,  officers 
and  men  took  oflf  their  caps  and  shouted  with  delight, 
and  thus  keeping  up  the  scenic  character  of  their  posi- 
tion, they  clapped  their  hands  again  and  again. 


45 


THE  DRUMS   OF  THE  FORE 
AND   AFT     . 


THE   DRUMS   OF  THE   FORE 
AND   AFT 

Rudyard  Kipling 

"And  a  little  child  shall  lead  them." 

TN  the  Army  List  they  will  stand  as  "The  Fore  and 
Fit  Princess  Hohenzollern-Sigmaringen-Auspach's 
Merther-Tydfilshire  Own  Royal  Loyal  Light  Infantry, 
Regimental  District  329A,"  but  the  Army  through  all 
its  barracks  and  canteens  knows  them  now  as  the 
"Fore  and  Aft."  They  may  in  time  do  something  that 
shall  make  their  new  title  honorable,  but  at  present 
they  are  bitterly  ashamed,  and  the  man  who  calls  them 
"Fore  and  Aft"  does  so  at  the  risk  of  the  head  which  is 
on  his  shoulders. 

Two  words  breathed  into  the  stables  of  a  certain 
Cavalry  Regiment  will  bring  the  men  out  into  the 
streets  with  belts  and  mops  and  bad  language;  but 
a  whisper  of  "Fore  and  Aft"  will  bring  out  this  regi- 
ment with  rifles. 

Their  one  excuse  is  that  they  came  again  and  did 
their  best  to  finish  the  job  in  style.  But  for  a  time  all 
their  world  knows  that  they  were  openly  beaten, 
whipped,  dumb-cowed,  shaking  and  afraid.  The  men 
know  it;  their  officers  know  it;  the  Horse  Guards 
know  it,  and  when  the  next  war  comes  the  enemy  will 
know  it  also.    There  arc  two  or  three  regiments  of  the 


49 


FAiMOUS   TALES   OF   BATTLE,    CAMP   AND   SIEGE. 

Line  that  have  a  black  mark  against  their  names  which 
they  will  then  wipe  out,  and  it  will  be  excessively  in- 
convenient for  the  troops  upon  whom  they  do  their 
wiping. 

The  courage  of  the  British  soldier  is  officially  sup- 
posed to  be  above  proof,  and,  as  a  general  rule,  it  is  so. 
The  exceptions  are  decently  shoveled  out  of  sight,  only 
to  be  referred  to  in  the  freshet  of  unguarded  talk  that 
occasionally  swamps  a  mess-table  at  midnight.  Then 
one  hears  strange  and  horrible  stories  of  men  not  fol- 
lowing their  officers,  or  orders  being  given  by  those 
who  had  no  right  to  give  them,  and  of  disgrace  that, 
but  for  the  standing  luck  of  the  British  Army,  might 
have  ended  in  brilliant  disaster.  These  are  unpleasant 
stories  to  listen  to,  and  the  messes  tell  them  under 
their  breath,  sitting  by  the  big  wood  fires,  and  the 
young  officer  bows  his  head  and  thinks  to  himself, 
please  God,  his  men  shall  never  behave  unhandily. 

The  British  soldier  is  not  altogether  blamed  for  oc- 
casional lapses;  but  this  verdict  he  should  not  know. 
A  moderately  intelligent  general  will  waste  six  months 
in  mastering  the  craft  of  the  particular  war  that  he 
may  be  waging;  a  colonel  may  utterly  misunderstand 
the  capacity  of  his  regiment  for  three  months  after  it 
has  taken  the  field;  and  even  a  company  commander 
may  err  and  be  deceived  as  to  the  temper  and  tempera- 
ment of  his  own  handful;  wherefore  the  soldier,  and  the 
soldier  of  to-day  more  particularly,  should  not  be 
blamed  for  falling  back.  He  should  be  shot  or  hanged 
afterwards — pour  encourager  les  autres;  but  he  should 
not  be  vilified  in  newspapers,  for  that  is  want  of  tact 
and  waste  of  space. 

He  has,  let  us  say,  been  in  the  service  of  the  Empress 
for,  perhaps,  four  years.  He  will  leave  in  another  two 
years.  He  has  no  inherited  morals,  and  four  years  are 
not  sufficient  to  drive  toughness  into  his  fibre,  or  to 


THE  DRUMS  OF  THE  FORE  AND  AFT. 

teach  him  how  holy  a  thing  is  his  regiment.  He  wants 
to  drink,  he  wants  to  enjoy  himself — in  India  he  wants 
to  save  money — and  he  does  not  in  the  least  like  getting 
hurt.  He  has  received  just  sufficient  education  to 
make  him  understand  half  the  purport  of  the  orders  he 
receives,  and  to  speculate  on  the  nature  of  clean,  in- 
cised, and  shattering  wounds.  'Thus,  if  he  is  told  to 
deploy  under  fire  preparatory  to  an  attack,  he  knows 
that  he  runs  a  very  great  risk  of  being  killed  while 
he  is  deploying,  and  suspects  that  he  is  being  thrown 
away  to  gain  ten  minutes'  time.  He  may  either  deploy 
with  desperate  swiftness,  or  he  may  shuffle,  or  bunch, 
or  break,  according  to  the  discipline  under  which  he 
has  lain  for  four  years. 

Armed  with  imperfect  knowledge,  cursed  with  the 
rudiments  of  an  imagination,  hampered  by  the  intense 
selfishness  of  the  lower  classes,  and  unsupported  by 
any  regimental  associations,  this  young  man  is  sud- 
denly introduced  to  an  enemy  who  in  eastern  lands 
is  always  ugly,  generally  tall  and  hairy,  and  frequently 
noisy.  If  he  looks  to  the  right  and  the  left  and  sees 
old  soldiers — men  of  twelve  years'  service,  who,  he 
knows,  know  what  they  are  about — taking  a  charge, 
rush,  or  demonstration  without  embarrassment,  he  is 
consoled  and  applies  his  shoulder  to  the  butt  of  his 
rifle  with  a  stout  heart.  His  peace  is  the  greater  if  he 
hears  a  senior,  who  has  taught  him  his  soldiering  and 
broken  his  head  on  occasion,  whispering: — "They'll 
shout  and  carry  on  like  this  for  five  minutes.  Then 
they'll  rush  in,  and  then  we've  got  'em  by  the  short 
hairs!" 

But,  on  the  other  hand,  if  he  sees  only  men  of  his 
own  term  of  service,  turning  white  and  playing  with 
their  triggers  and  saying: — "What  the  hell's  up  now?" 
while  the  company  commanders  are  sweating  into  their 
sword-hilts  and  shouting: — "Front-rank,  fix  bayonets. 


51 


FAMOUS   TALES   OF   BATTLE,    CAMP   AND   SIEGE. 

Steady  there — steady!  Sight  for  three  hundred — no, 
for  five!  Lie  down,  all!  Steady!  Front-rank,  kneel!" 
and  so  forth,  he  becomes  unhappy;  and  grows  acutely 
miserable  when  he  hears  a  comrade  turn  over  with  the 
rattle  of  fire-irons  falling  into  the  fender,  and  the 
grunt  of  a  pole-axed  ox.  If  he  can  be  moved  about 
a  little  and  allowed  to  watch  the  effect  of  his  own  fire 
on  the  enemy  he  feels  merrier,  and  may  be  then 
worked  up  to  the  blind  passion  of  fighting,  which  is. 
contrary  to  general  belief,  controlled  by  a  chilly  devil 
and  shakes  men  like  ague.  If  he  is  not  moved  about, 
and  begins  to  feel  cold  at  the  pit  of  the  stomach,  and 
in  that  crisis  is  badly  mauled  and  hears  orders  that  were 
never  given,  he  will  break,  and  he  will  break  badly; 
and  of  all  things  under  the  sight  of  the  sun  there  is 
nothing  more  terrible  than  a  broken  British  regiment. 
When  the  worst  comes  to  the  worst  and  the  panic  is 
really  epidemic,  the  men  must  be  e'en  let  go,  and  the 
company  commanders  had  better  escape  to  the  enemy 
and  stay  there  for  safety's  sake.  If  they  can  be  made 
to  come  again  they  are  not  pleasant  men  to  meet, 
because  they  will  not  break  twice. 

About  thirty  years  from  this  date,  when  we  have 
succeeded  in  half-educating  everything  that  wears 
trousers,  our  army  will  be  a  beautifully  unreliable  ma- 
chine. It  will  know  too  much  and  it  will  do  too  little. 
Later  still,  when  all  men  are  at  the  mental  level  of  the 
officer  of  to-day  it  will  sweep  the  earth.  Speaking 
roughly,  you  must  employ  either  blackguards  or  gen- 
tlemen to  do  butcher's  work  with  efficiency  and  des- 
patch. The  ideal  soldier  should,  of  course,  think  for 
himself — the  Pockef-book  says  so.  Unfortunately,  to 
attain  this  virtue,  he  has  to  pass  through  the  phase  of 
thinking  of  himself,  and  that  is  misdirected  genius.  A 
blackguard  may  be  slow  to  think  for  himself,  but  he  is 
genuinely    anxious    to    kill,    and    a    little    punishment 


52 


THE  DRUMS  OF  THE  FORE  AND  AFT. 

teaches  him  how  to  guard  his  own  skin  and  perforate 
another's.  A  powerfully  prayerful  Highland  regiment, 
ofificered  by  rank  Presbyterians,  is,  perhaps,  one  degree 
more  terrible  in  action  than  a  hard-bitten  thousand 
of  irresponsible  Irish  ruffians  led  by  most  improper 
young  unbelievers.  But  these  things  prove  the  rule — 
which  is  that  the  midway  men  are  not  to  be  trusted 
alone.  They  have  ideas  about  the  value  of  life  and  an 
up-bringing  that  has  not  taught  them  to  go  on  and 
take  the  chances.  They  are  carefully  unprovided  with 
a  backing  of  comrades  who  have  been  shot  over,  and 
until  that  backing  is  re-introduced,  as  a  great  many 
regimental  commanders  intend  it  shall  be,  they  are 
more  liable  to  disgrace  themselves  than  the  size  of  the 
Empire  or  the  dignity  of  the  army  allows.  Their  of- 
ficers are  as  good  as  good  can  be,  because  their  train- 
ing begins  early,  and  God  has  arranged  that  a  clean- 
run  youth  of  the  British  middle  classes  shall,  in  the 
matter  of  backbone,  brains,  and  bowels,  surpass  all 
other  youths.  For  this  reason  a  child  of  eighteen  will 
stand  up,  doing  nothing,  with  a  tin  sword  in  his  hand 
and  joy  in  his  heart  until  he  is  dropped.  If  he  dies, 
he  dies  like  a  gentleman.  If  he  lives,  he  writes  home 
that  he  has  been  "potted,"  "sniped,"  "chipped"  or 
"cut  over,"  and  sits  down  to  besiege  Government  for  a 
wound-gratuity  until  the  next  little  war  breaks  out, 
when  he  perjures  himself  before  a  medical  board, 
blarneys  his  colonel,  burns  incense  round  his  adjutant, 
and  is  allowed  to  go  to  the  front  once  more. 

Which  homily  brings  me  directly  to  a  brace  of  the 
most  finished  little  fiends  that  ever  banged  drum  or 
tootled  fife  in  the  band  of  a  British  regiment.  They 
ended  their  sinful  career  by  open  and  flagrant  mutiny 
and  were  shot  for  it.  Their  names  were  Jakin  and 
Lew — Piggy  Lew — and  they  were  bold,  bad  drummer- 


53 


FAMOUS   TALES   OF   BATTLE,    CAMP   AND   SIEGE. 

boys,  both  of  them  frequently  birched  by  the  drum- 
major  of  the  Fore  and  Aft. 

Jakin  was  a  stunted  child  of  fourteen,  and  Lew 
was  about  the  same  age.  When  not  looked  after,  they 
smoked  and  drank.  They  swore  habitually  after  the 
manner  of  the  barrack-room,  which  is  cold-swearing 
and  comes  from  between  clinched  teeth;  and  they 
fought  religiously  once  a  week.  Jakin  had  sprung 
from  some  London  gutter  and  may  or  may  not  have 
passed  through  Dr.  Barnado's  hands  ere  he  arrived  at 
the  dignity  of  drummer-boy.  Lew  could  remember 
nothing  except  the  regiment  and  the  delight  of  listen- 
ing to  the  band  from  his  earliest  years.  He  hid  some- 
where in  his  grimy  little  soul  a  genuine  love  for 
music,  and  was  most  mistakenly  furnished  with  the 
head  of  a  cherub:  insomuch  that  beautiful  ladies  who 
watched  the  regiment  in  church  were  wont  to  speak  of 
him  as  a  "darling."  They  never  heard  his  vitriolic 
comments  on  their  manners  and  morals,  as  he  walked 
back  to  barracks  with  the  band  and  matured  fresh 
causes  of  ofifence  against  Jakin. 

The  other  drummer-boys  hated  both  lads  on  account 
of  their  illogical  conduct.  Jakin  might  be  pounding 
Lew,  or  Lew  might  be  rubbing  Jakin's  head  in  the 
dirt,  but  any  attempt  at  aggression  on  the  part  of  an 
outsider  was  met  by  the  combined  forces  of  Lew  and 
Jakin;  and  the  consequences  were  painful.  The  boys 
were  the  Ishmiels  of  the  corps,  but  wealthy  Ishmaels, 
for  they  sold  battles  in  alternate  weeks  for  the  sport 
of  the  barracks  when  they  were  not  pitted  against 
other  boys;    and  thus  amassed  money. 

On  this  particular  day  there  was  dissension  in  the 
camp.  They  had  just  been  convicted  afresh  of  smok- 
ing, which  is  bad  for  little  boys  who  use  plug-tobacco, 
and  Lew's  contention  was  that  Jakin  had  "stunk  so 
'orrid   bad   from   keepin'   the  pipe   in   pocket,"   that   he 


54 


THE  DRUMS  OF  THE  FORE  AND  AFT. 

and  he  alone  was  responsible  for  the  birching  they  were 
both  tingling  under. 

"I  tell  you  I  'id  the  pipe  back  o'  barricks,"  said 
Jakin  pacifically. 

"You're  a  bloomin'  liar,"  said  Lew  without  heat. 

"You're  a  bloomin'  little  bastard,"  said  Jakin,  strong 
in  the  knowledge  that  his  own  ancestry  was  unknown. 

Now  there  is  one  word  in  the  extended  vocabulary  of 
barrack-room  abuse  that  cannot  pass  without  com- 
ment. You  may  call  a  man  a  thief  and  risk  nothing. 
You  may  even  call  him  a  coward  without  finding  more 
than  a  boot  whiz  past  your  ear,  but  you  must  not  call 
a  man  a  bastard  unless  you  are  prepared  to  prove  it  on 
his  front  teeth. 

"You  might  ha'  kep'  that  till  I  wasn't  so  sore,"  said 
Lew,  sorrowfull}%  dodging  round  Jakin's  guard. 

"I'll  make  you  sorer,"  said  Jakin  genially,  and  got 
home  on  Lew's  alabaster  forehead.  All  would  have 
gone  well  and  this  story,  as  the  books  say,  would  never 
have  been  written,  had  not  his  evil  fate  prompted  the 
bazar-sergeant's  son,  a  long,  employless  man  of  five 
and  twenty,  to  put  in  an  appearance  after  the  first 
round.  He  was  eternally  in  need  of  money,  and  knew 
that  the  boys  had  silver. 

"Fighting  again,"  said  he.  "I'll  report  you  to  my 
father,  and  he'll  report  you  to  the  color-sergeant." 

"What's  that  to  you?"  said  Jakin  with  an  unpleasant 
dilation  of  the  nostrils. 

"Oh!  nothing  to  me.  You'll  get  into  trouble,  and 
you've  been  up  too  often  to  afiford  that." 

"What  the  hell  do  you  know  about  what  we've 
done?"  asked  Lew  the  Seraph.  "You  aren't  in  the 
army,  you  lousy,  cadging  civilian." 

He  closed  in  on  the  man's  left  flank. 

"Jes'  'cause  you  find  two  gentlemen  settlin'  their 
diff'rences  with  their  fists  you  stick  in  your  ugly  nose 


FAMOUS   TALES   OF    ISATTLE,    CAMP   AND    SIEGE. 

where  you  aren't  wanted.  Run  'ome  to  your  'arf-caste 
slut  of  a  ma — or  we'll  give  you  what-for,"  said  Jakin. 

The  man  attempted  reprisals  by  knocking  the  boys' 
heads  together.  The  scheme  would  have  succeeded  had 
not  Jakin  punched  him  vehemently  in  the  stomach, 
or  had  Lew  refrained  from  kicking  his  shins.  They 
fought  together,  bleeding  and  breathless,  for  half  an 
hour,  and,  after  heavy  punishment,  triumphantly  pulled 
down  their  opponent  as  terriers  pull  down  a  jackal. 

"Now,"  gasped  Jakin,  "I'll  give  you  what-for."  He 
proceeded  to  pound  the  man's  features  while  Lew 
stamped  on  the  outlying  portions  of  his  anatomy. 
Chivalry  is  not  a  strong  point  in  the  composition  of 
the  average  drummer-boy.  He  fights,  as  do  his  betters, 
to  make  his  mark. 

Ghastly  was  the  ruin  that  escaped,  and  awful  was 
the  wrath  of  the  bazar-sergeant.  Awful  too  was  the 
scene  in  orderly-room  when  the  two  reprobates  ap- 
peared to  answer  the  charge  of  half-murdering  a 
"civilian."  The  bazar-sergeant  thirsted  for  a  criminal 
action,  and  his  son  lied.  The  boys  stood  to  attention 
while  the  black  clouds  of  evidence  accumulated. 

"You  little  devils  are  more  trouble  than  the  rest 
of  the  regiment  put  together,"  said  the  colonel  angrily. 
"One  might  as  well  admonish  thistledown,  and  I  can't 
well  put  you  in  cells  or  under  stoppages.  You  must 
be  flogged  again." 

"Beg  y'  pardon,  sir.  Can't  we  say  nothin'  in  our 
own  defence,  sir?"  shrilled  Jakin. 

"Hay!  What?  Are  you  going  to  argue  with  me?" 
said  the  colonel. 

"No,  sir,"  said  Lew.  "But  if  a  man  come  to  you, 
sir,  and  said  he  was  going  to  report  you,  sir,  for 
'aving  a  bit  of  a  turn-up  with  a  friend,  sir,  an'  wanted 
to  get  money  out  o'  you,  sir " 

56 


THE  DRUMS  OF  THE  FORE  AND  AFT. 

The  orderly-room  exploded  in  a  roar  of  laughter. 
"Well?"    said  the  colonel. 

"That  was  what  that  measly  jarnwar  there  did,  sir, 
and  'e'd  'a'  done  it,  sir,  if  we  'adn't  prevented  'im. 
We  didn't  'it  'im  much,  sir.  'E  'adn't  no  manner  o' 
right  to  interfere  with  us,  sir.  I  don't  mind  bein' 
flogged  by  the  drum-major,  sir.  nor  yet  reported  by  any 
corp'ral,  but  I'm — but  I  don't  think  it's  fair,  sir,  for 
a  civilian  to  come  an'  talk  over  a  man  in  the  army." 

A  second  shout  of  laughter  shook  the  orderly-room, 
but  the  colonel  was  grave. 

"What  sort  of  characters  have  these  boys?"  he  asked 
of  the  regimental  sergeant-major. 

"Accordin'  to  the  bandmaster,  sir,"  returned  that  re- 
vered official — the  only  soul  in  the  regiment  whom  the 
boys  feared — "they  do  everything  but  lie,  sir." 

"Is  it  like  we'd  go  for  that  man  for  fun,  sir?"  said 
Lew,  pointing  to  the  plaintiff. 

"Oh,  admonished, — admonished!"  said  the  colonel 
testily,  and  when  the  boys  had  gone  he  read  the 
bazar-sergeant's  son  a  lecture  on  the  sin  of  unprofitable 
meddling,  and  gave  orders  that  the  bandmaster  should 
keep  the  drums  in  better  discipline. 

"If  either  of  you  come  to  practice  again  with  so  much 
as  a  scratch  on  your  two  ugly  little  faces,"  thundered 
the  bandmaster,  "I'll  tell  the  drum-major  to  take  the 
skin  ofif  your  backs.  Understand  that,  you  young 
devils." 

Then  he  repented  of  his  speech  for  just  the  length 
of  time  that  Lew,  looking  like  a  Seraph  in  red 
worsted  embellishments,  took  the  place  of  one  of  the 
trumpets — in  hospital — and  rendered  the  echo  of  a  bat- 
tle-piece. Lew  certainly  was  a  musician,  and  had  often 
in  his  more  exalted  moments  expressed  a  yearning  to 
master  every  instrument  of  the  band. 

"There's  nothing  to  prevent  your  becoming  a  band- 


57 


FAMOUS   TALKS   OF    ItATiLE,    CAMP   AND   SIFGE. 

master,  Lew,"  said  the  bandmaster,  who  had  composed 
waltzes  of  his  own,  and  worked  day  and  night  in  the 
interests  of  the  band. 

"What  did  he  say?"  demanded  Jakin  after  practice. 

"  'Said  I  might  be  a  bloomin'  bandmaster,  an'  be 
asked  in  to  'ave  a  glass  o'  sherry  wine  on  mess-nights." 

"Ho!  'Said  you  might  be  a  bloomin'  non-combat- 
ant, did  'e!  That's  just  about  wot  'e  would  say.  When 
I've  put  in  my  boy's  service — it's  a  bloomin'  shame  that 
doesn't  count  for  pension — I'll  take  on  a  privit.  Then 
I'll  be  a  lance  in  a  year — knowin'  what  I  know  about 
the  ins  an'  outs  o'  things.  In  three  years  I'll  be  a 
bloomin'  sergeant.  I  won't  marry  then,  not  I!  I'll 
'old  on  and  learn  the  orf'cers'  ways  an'  apply  for  ex- 
change into  a  regiment  that  doesn't  know  all  about  me. 
Then  I'll  be  a  bloomin'  orf'cer.  Then  I'll  ask  you  to 
'ave  a  glass  o'  sherry  wine.  Mister  Lew,  an'  you'll 
bloomin'  well  'ave  to  stay  in  the  hanty-room  while 
the  mess-sergeant  brings  it  to  your  dirty  hands." 

"  'Spose  I'm  going  to  be  a  bandmaster?  Not  I,  quite. 
I'll  be  a  orf'cer  too.  There's  nothin'  like  taking  to 
a  thing  an'  stickin'  to  it,  the  schoolmaster  says.  The 
regiment  don't  go  'ome  for  another  seven  years.  I'll 
be  a  lance  then  or  near  to." 

Thus  the  boys  discussed  their  futures,  and  con- 
ducted themselves  with  exemplary  piety  for  a  week. 
That  is  to  say,  Lew  started  a  flirtation  with  the  color- 
sergeant's  daughter,  aged  thirteen — "not,"  as  he  ex- 
plained to  Jakin,  "with  any  intention  o'  matrimony, 
but  by  way  o'  keepin'  my  'and  in."  And  the  black- 
haired  Cris  Delighan  enjoyed  that  flirtation  more  than 
previous  ones,  and  the  other  drummer-boys  raged 
furiously  together,  and  Jakin  preached  sermons  on  the 
dangers  of  "bein'  tangled  along  o'  petticoats." 

But  neither  love  nor  virtue  would  have  held  Lew 
long  in  the  paths  of  propriety  had  not  the  rumor  gone 


THE  DRUMS  OF  THE  FORE  AND  AFT. 

abroad  that  the  regiment  was  to  be  sent  on  active 
service,  to  take  part  in  a  war  which,  for  the  sake  of 
brevity,  we  will  call  "The  War  of  the  Lost  Tribes." 

The  barracks  had  the  rumor  almost  before  the  mess- 
room,  and  of  all  the  nine  hundred  men  in  barracks 
not  ten  had  seen  a  shot  fired  in  anger.  The  colonel 
had,  twenty  years  ago,  assisted  at  a  frontier  expedi- 
tion; one  of  the  majors  had  seen  service  at  the  Cape; 
a  confirmed  deserter  in  E  Company  had  helped  to 
clear  streets  in  Ireland;  but  that  was  all.  The  regi- 
ment had  been  put  by  for  many  years.  The  overwhelm- 
ing mass  of  its  rank  and  file  had  from  three  to  four 
years'  service;  the  non-commissioned  officers  were  un- 
der thirty  years  old;  and  men  and  sergeants  alike  had 
forgotten  to  speak  of  the  stories  written  in  brief  upon 
the  colors— the  new  colors  that  had  been  formally 
blessed  by  an  archbishop  in  England  ere  the  regiment 
came  away. 

They  wanted  to  go  to  the  front — they  were  enthu- 
siastically anxious  to  go — but  they  had  no  knowledge 
of  what  war  meant,  and  there  was  none  to  tell  them. 
They  were  an  educated  regiment,  the  percentage  of 
school-certificates  in  their  ranks  was  high,  and  most  of 
the  men  could  do  more  than  read  and  write.  They 
had  been  recruited  in  loyal  observance  of  the  territorial 
idea;  but  they  themselves  had  no  notion  of  that  idea. 
They  were  made  up  of  drafts  from  an  over-populated 
manufacturing  district.  The  system  had  put  flesh  and 
muscle  upon  their  small  bones,  but  it  could  not  put 
heart  into  the  sons  of  those  who  for  generations  had 
done  overmuch  work  for  overscanty  pay,  had  sweated 
in  drying-rooms,  stooped  over  looms,  coughed  among 
white-lead  and  shivered  on  lime-barges.  The  men  had 
found  food  and  rest  in  the  army,  and  now  they  were 
going  to  fight  "niggers" — people  who  ran  away  if  you 
shook  a  stick  at  them.     Wherefore  they  cheered  lustily 


59 


FAMOUS   TALES   OF   BATTLE,    CAMP   AND    SIEGE. 

when  the  rumor  ran,  and  the  shrewd,  clerkly  non-com- 
missioned officers  speculated  on  the  chances  of  batta 
and  of  saving  their  pay.  At  headquarters,  men  said: — 
"The  Fore  and  Fit  have  never  been  under  fire  within 
the  last  generation.  Let  us,  therefore,  break  them  in 
easily  by  setting  them  to  guard  lines  of  communica- 
tion." And  this  would  have  been  done  but  for  the  fact 
that  British  regiments  were  wanted — badly  wanted — 
at  the  front,  and  there  were  doubtful  native  regiments 
that  could  fill  the  minor  duties.  "Brigade  'em  with 
two  strong  regiments,"  said  headquarters.  "They  may 
be  knocked  about  a  bit,  but  they'll  learn  their  business 
before  they  come  through.  Nothing  like  a  night-alarm 
and  a  little  cutting-up  of  stragglers  to  make  a  regiment 
smart  in  the  field.  Wait  till  they've  had  half  a  dozen 
sentries'  throats  cut." 

The  colonel  wrote  with  delight  that  the  temper  of 
his  men  was  excellent,  that  the  regiment  was  all  that 
could  be  wished  and  as  sound  as  a  bell.  The  majors 
smiled  with  a  sober  joy,  and  the  subalterns  waltzed  in 
pairs  down  the  mess-room  after  dinner  and  nearly  shot 
themselves  at  revolver  practice.  But  there  was  conster- 
nation in  the  hearts  of  Jakin  and  Lew.  What  was  to 
be  done  with  the  drums?  Would  the  band  go  to  the 
front?  How  many  of  the  drums  would  accompany  the 
regiment? 

They  took  council  together,  sitting  in  a  tree  and 
smoking. 

"It's  more  than  a  bloomin'  toss-up  they'll  leave  us 
be'ind  at  the  depot  with  the  women.  You'll  like  that," 
said  Jakin  sarcastically. 

"'Cause  o'  Cris,  y'  mean?  Wot's  a  woman,  or  a 
'ole  bloomin'  depot  o'  women,  'longside  o'  the  chanst 
of  field  service?  You  know  I'm  as  keen  on  goin'  as 
you,"  said  Lew. 

"  'Wish  I  was  a  bloomin'  bugler,"  said  Jakin  sadly. 

60 


THE  DRUMS  OF  THE  FORE  AND  AFT. 

"They'll  take  Tom  Kidd  along,  that  I  can  plaster  a  wall 
with,  an'  like  as  not  they  won't  take  us." 

"Then  let's  go  an'  make  Tom  Kidd  so  bloomin'  sick 
'e  can't  bugle  no  more.  You  'old  'is  'ands  an'  I'll  kick 
him,"   said   Lew,   wriggling  on   the   branch. 

"That  ain't  no  good  neither.  We  ain't  the  sort  o' 
characters  to  presoom  on  our  rep'tations — they're  bad. 
If  they  have  the  band  at  the  depot  we  don't  go,  and  no 
error  there.  If  they  take  the  band  we  may  get  cast 
for  medical  unfitness.  Are  you  medical  fit.  Piggy?'' 
said  Jakin,  digging  Lew  in  the  ribs  with  force. 

"Yus."  said  Lew  with  an  oath.  "The  doctor  says  your 
mart's  weak  through  smokin'  on  an  empty  stummick. 
"hrow  a  chest  an'  I'll  try  yer." 

Jakin  threw  out  his  chest,  which  Lew  smote  with 
all  his  might.  Jakin  turned  very  pale,  gasped,  crowed, 
screwed  up  his  eyes,  and  said,  "That's  all  right." 

"You'll  do,"  said  Lew.  "I've  'card  o'  men  dyin' 
when  you  'it  'em  fair  on  the  breastbone." 

"Don't  bring  us  no  nearer  goin',  though,"  said  Jakin. 
"Do  you  know  where  we're  ordered?" 

"Gawd  knows,  an'  'e  won't  split  on  a  pal.  Some- 
wheres  up  to  the  Front  to  kill  Paythans — hairy,  big 
beggars  that  turn  you  inside  out  if  they  get  'old  o' 
you.    They  say  their  women  are  good-looking,  too." 

"Any  loot?"'  asked  the  abandoned  Jakin. 

"Not  a  bloomin'  anna,  they  say,  unless  you  dig  up 
the  ground  an'  see  what  the  niggers  'ave  'id.  They're 
a  poor  lot."  Jakin  stood  upright  on  the  branch  and 
gazed  across  the  plain. 

"Lew,"  said  he,  "there's  the  colonel  coming. 
Colonel's  a  good  old  beggar.  Let's  go  an'  talk  to 
'im." 

Lew  nearly  fell  out  of  the  tree  at  the  audacity  of 
the  suggestion.  Like  Jakin,  he  feared  not  God,  neither 
regarded  he  man,  but  there  are  limits  even  to  the  au- 

6i 


FAMOUS  TAI.ES   OF   BATTLE,    CAMP   AND   SIEGE. 

dacity  of  a  drummer-boy,  and  to  speak  to  a  colonel 
was     .     .     . 

But  Jakin  had  slid  down  the  trunk  and  doubled  in 
the  direction  of  the  colonel.  That  officer  was  walking 
wrapped  in  thought  and  visions  of  a  C.  B. — yes,  even 
a  K.  C.  B.,  for  had  he  not  at  command  one  of  the  best 
regiments  of  the  line — the  Fore  and  Fit?  And  he 
was  aware  of  two  small  boys  charging  down  upon 
him.  Once  before  it  had  been  solemnly  reported  to 
him  that  "the  Drums  were  in  a  state  of  mutiny;" 
Jakin  and  Lew  being  the  ringleaders.  This  looked 
like  an  organized  conspiracy. 

The  boys  halted  at  twenty  yards,  and  walked  to  the 
regulation  four  paces,  and  saluted  together,  each  as 
well  set-up  as  a  ramrod  and  little  taller. 

The  colonel  was  in  a  genial  mood;  the  boys  appeared 
very  forlorn  and  unprotected  on  the  desolate  plain, 
and  one  of  them  was  handsome. 

"Well!"  said  the  colonel,  recognizing  them;  "are 
you  going  to  pull  me  down  in  the  open?  I'm  sure  I 
never  interfere  with  you,  even  though — "  he  sniffed 
suspiciously — "you  have  been  smoking." 

It  was  time  to  strike  while  the  iron  was  hot.  Their 
hearts  beat  tumultuously. 

"Beg  y'  pardon,  sir,"  began  Jakin.  "The  reg'ment's 
ordered  on  active  service,  sir." 

"So  I  believe,"  said  the  colonel  courteously. 

"Is  the  band  goin',  sir?"  said  both  together.  Then, 
without  pause,  "We're  goin',  sir,  ain't  we?" 

"You!"  said  the  colonel,  stepping  back  the  more 
fully  to  take  in  the  two  small  figures.  "You!  You'd 
die  in  the  first  march." 

"No,  we  wouldn't,  sir.  We  can  march  with  the  regi- 
ment anywheres — p'rade  an'  anywhere  else,"  said  Jakin. 

'Tf  Tom  Kidd  goes,  'e'll  shut  up  like  a  clasp-knife," 


62 


THE  DRUMS  OF  THE  FORE  AND  AFT. 

said  Lew.  "Tom  'as  very  close  veins  in  both  'is  legs, 
sir." 

"Very  how  much?" 

"Very  close  veins,  sir.  That's  why  they  swells  after 
long  p'rade,  sir.     If  'e  can  go,  we  can  go,  sir." 

Again  the  colonel  looked  at  them  long  and  intently. 

"Yes;  the  band  is  going,"  he  said,  as  gravely  as 
though  he  had  been  addressing  a  brother  officer. 
"Have  you  any  parents,  either  of  you  two?" 

"No,  sir,"  rejoicingly  from  Lew  and  Jakin.  "We're 
both  orphans,  sir.  There's  no  one  to  be  considered 
of  on  our  account,  sir." 

"You  poor  little  sprats!  And  you  want  to  go  up  to 
the  front  with  the  regiment,  do  you?     Why?" 

"I've  wore  the  Queen's  uniform  for  two  years,"  said 
Jakin.  "It's  very  'ard,  sir,  that  a  man  don't  get  no 
recompense  for  doin'  'is  dooty,  sir." 

"An' — an'  if  I  don't  go,  sir,"  interrupted  Lew, 
"the  bandmaster  'e  says  'e'U  catch  an'  make  a  bloo— a 
blessed  musician  o'  me,  sir.  Before  I've  seen  any  ser- 
vice, sir." 

The  colonel  made  tio  answer  for  a  long  time.  Then 
he  said,  quietly:  "If  you're  passed  by  the  doctor,  I 
dare  say  you  can  go.  I  shouldn't  smoke,  if  I  were 
you." 

The  boys  saluted  and  disappeared.  The  colonel 
walked  home  and  told  the  story  to  his  wife,  who 
nearly  cried  over  it.  The  colonel  was  well  pleased. 
If  that  was  the  temper  of  the  children,  what  would 
not  the  men  do? 

Jakin  and  Lew  entered  the  boys'  barrack-room  with 
great  stateliness,  and  refused  to  hold  any  conversation 
with  their  comrades  for  at  least  ten  minutes.  Then, 
bursting  with  pride,  Jakin  drawled:  "I've  bin  inter- 
vooin'  the  colonel.  Good  old  beggar  is  the  colonel. 
Says   I   to    'im,    'Colonel,'   says   I,   'let  me  go   to  the 

63 


FAMOUS  TALES  OF   BATTLE,   CAMP  AND   SIEGE. 

front,  along  o'  the  reg'ment.'  'To  the  front  you  shall 
go,'  says  'e;  'an'  I  only  wish  there  was  more  like  you 
among  the  dirty  little  devils  that  bang  the  bloomin' 
drums!'  Kidd,  if  you  throw  your  'coutrements  at  me 
for  tellin'  you  the  truth  to  your  own  advantage,  your 
legs  'II  swell." 

None  the  less,  there  was  a  battle  royal  in  the  bar- 
rack-room, for  the  boys  were  consumed  with  envy 
and  hate,  and  neither  Jakin  nor  Lew  behaved  in  con- 
ciliatory wise. 

"I'm  goin'  out  to  say  adoo  to  my  girl,"  said  Lew,  to 
cap  the  climax.  "Don't  none  o'  you  touch  my  kit,  be- 
cause it's  wanted  for  active  service,  me  bein'  specially 
invited  to  go  by  the  colonel." 

He  strolled  forth  and  whistled  in  the  clump  of  trees 
at  the  back  of  the  married  quarters  till  Cris  came  to 
him,  and,  the  preliminary  kisses  being  given  and  taken, 
Lew  began  to  explain  the  situation. 

"I'm  goin'  to  the  front  with  the  reg'ment."  he  said, 
valiantly. 

"Piggy,  you're  a  little  liar,"  said  Cris;  but  her  heart 
misgave  her,  for  Lew  was  not  in  the  habit  of  lying. 

"Liar  yourself,  Cris,"  said  Lew,  slipping  an  arm 
round  her.  "I'm  goin'.  When  the  reg'ment  marches 
out  you'll  see  me  with  'em,  all  galHant  and  gay.  Give 
us  another  kiss,  Cris,  on  the  strength  of  it." 

"If  you'd  on'y  a-stayed  at  the  depot — ^where  you 
ought  to  ha'  bin — you  could  get  as  many  of  'em  as — 
as  you  dam  please,"  whimpered  Cris,  putting  up  her 
mouth. 

"It's  'ard,  Cris.  I  grant  you  it's  'ard.  But  what's 
a  man  to  do?  If  I'd  a-stayed  at  the  depot,  you 
wouldn't  think  anything  of  me." 

"Like  as  not;  but  I'd  'ave  you  with  me.  Piggy.  An' 
all  the  thinkin'  in  the  world  isn't  like  kissin'." 


64 


THE  DRUMS  OF  THE  FORE  AND  AFT. 

"An'  all  the  kissin'  in  the  world  isn't  like  'avin'  a 
medal  to  wear  on  the  front  o'  your  coat." 

"You  won't  get  no  medal." 

"Oh,  yus;  I  shall,  though!  Me  an'  Jakin  are  the  only 
acting-drummers  that'll  be  took  along.  All  the  rest 
is  full  men,  an'  we'll  get  our  medals  with  them." 

"They  might  ha'  taken  anybody  but  you.  Piggy. 
"You'll  get  killed — you're  so  venturesome.  Stay  with 
me.  Piggy,  darlin',  down  at  the  depot,  an'  I'll  love  you 
true  forever." 

"Ain't  you  goin'  to  do  that  now,  Cris?  You  said 
you  was." 

"O'  course,  I  am,  but  th'  other's  more  comfortable. 
Wait  till  you've  growed  a  bit,  Piggy.  You  aren't  no 
taller  than  me  now." 

"I've  bin  in  the  army  for  two  years,  an'  I'm  not 
goin'  to  get  out  of  a  chanst  o'  seein'  service,  an'  don't 
you  try  to  make  me  do  so.  I'll  come  back,  Cris,  an' 
when  I  take  on  as  a  man  I'll  marry  you — marry  you 
when  I'm  a  Lance." 

"Promise,  Piggy?" 

Lew  reflected  on  the  future  as  arranged  by  Jakin  a 
short  time  previously,  but  Cris's  mouth  was  very  near 
to  his  own. 

"I  promise,  s'  'elp  me.  Gawd!"  said  he. 

Cris  slid  an  arm  round  his  neck. 

"I  won't  'old  you  back  no  more.  Piggy.  Go  away 
an'  get  your  medal,  an'  I'll  make  you  a  new  button- 
bag  as  nice  as  I  know  how,"  she  whispered. 

"Put  some  o'  your  'air  into  it,  Cris,  an'  I'll  keep  it 
in  my  pocket  so  long's  I'm  alive." 

Then  Cris  wept  anew,  and  the  interview  ended. 
Public  feeling  among  the  drummer-boys  rose  to  fever 
pitch,  and  the  lives  of  Jakin  and  Lew  became  unen- 
viable. Not  only  had  they  been  permitted  to  enlist 
two  years  before  the  regulation  boy's  age — fourteen — 

65 


FAMOUS  TALES   OF   BATTLE,   CAMP  AND    SIEGE 

but,  by  virtue,  it  seemed,  of  their  extreme  youth,  they 
were  allowed  to  go  to  the  front — which  thinj^  had  not 
happened  to  acting  drummers  within  the  knowledge 
of  boy.  The  band  which  was  to  accompany  the  regi- 
ment had  been  cut  down  to  the  regulation  twenty  men, 
the  surplus  returning  to  the  ranks.  Jakin  and  Lew- 
were  attached  to  the  band  as  supernumeraries,  though 
they  would  much  have  preferred  being  company 
buglers. 

"Don't  matter  much,"  said  Jakin  after  the  medical 
inspection.  "Be  thankful  that  we're  'lowed  to  go  at 
all.  The  doctor  'e  said  that  if  we  could  stand  what 
we  took  from  the  bazar-sergeant's  son  we'd  stand  pretty 
nigh  anything." 

"Which  we  will,"  said  Lew,  looking  tenderly  at 
the  ragged  and  ill-made  housewife  that  Cris  had  given 
him,  with  a  lock  of  her  hair  worked  into  a  sprawling 
"L"  upon  the  cover. 

"It  was  the  best  I  could,"  she  sobbed.  "I  wouldn't 
let  mother  nor  the  sergeant's  tailor  'elp  me.  Keep  it 
always.  Piggy,  an'  remember  I  love  you  true." 

They  marched  to  the  railway  station,  nine  hundred 
and  sixty  strong;  and  every  soul  in  cantonments  turned 
out  to  see  them  go.  The  drummers  gnashed  their 
teeth  at  Jakin  and  Lew  marching  with  the  band,  the 
married  women  wept  upon  the  platform,  and  the  regi- 
ment cheered  its  noble  self  black  in  the  face. 

"A  nice  level  lot,"  said  the  colonel  to  the  second-in- 
command  as  they  watched  the  first  four  companies 
entraining. 

"Fit  to  do  anything,"  said  the  second-in-command 
enthusiastically.  "But  it  seems  to  me  they're  a  thought 
too  young  and  tender  for  the  work  in  hand.  It's  bitter 
cold  up  at  the  front  now." 

"They're  sound  enough,"  said  the  colonel.  "We 
must  take  our  chance  of  sick  casualties." 


66 


THE  DRUMS  OF  THE  FORE  AND  AFT. 

So  they  went  northward,  ever  northward,  past  droves 
and  droves  of  cameis,  armies  of  camp  followers,  and 
legions  of  laden  mules,  the  throng  thickening  day  by 
day,  till  with  a  shriek  the  train  pulled  up  at  a  hope- 
lessly congested  junction,  where  six  lines  of  temporary 
track  accommodated  six  forty-wagon  trains;  where 
whistles  blew,  Babus  sweated  and  commissariat  officers 
swore  from  dawn  till  far  into  the  night  amid  the  wind- 
driven  chaff  of  the  fodder-bales  and  the  lowing  of  a 
thousand  steers. 

"Hurry  up — you're  badly  wanted  at  the  front,"  was 
the  message  that  greeted  the  Fore  and  Aft,  and  the 
occupants  of  the  Red  Cross  carriages  told  the  same 
tale. 

"  'Tisn't  so  much  tlie  bloomin'  fighting,"  gasped  a 
head-bound  trooper  of  Hussars  to  a  knot  of  admiring 
Fore  and  Afts.  "  'Tisn't  so  much  the  bloomin'  fightin', 
though  there's  enough  o'  that.  It's  the  bloomin'  food 
an'  the  bloomin'  climate.  Frost  all  night,  'cept  when 
it  hails,  and  biling  sun  all  day,  and  the  water  stinks  fit 
to  knock  you  down.  I  got  my  'ead  chipped  like  a 
egg;  I've  got  pneumonia,  too;  an'  my  guts  is  all  out 
o'  order.  'Tain't  no  bloomin'  picnic  in  those  parts,  I 
can  tell  you." 

"Wot  are  the  niggers  like?"   demanded  a  private. 

"There's  some  prisoners  in  that  train  yonder.  Go 
an'  look  at  'em.  They're  the  aristocracy  o'  the  coun- 
try. The  common  folk  are  a  dashed  sight  uglier.  If 
you  want  to  know  what  they  fight  with,  reach  under  my 
seat  an'  pull  out  the  long  knife  that's  there." 

They  dragged  out  and  beheld  for  the  first  time  the 
grim,  bone-handled,  triangular  Afghan  knife.  It  was 
almost  as  long  as  Lew. 

"That's  the  thing  to  jint  ye,"  said  the  trooper 
/eebly. 

"It  can  take  off  a  man's  arm  at  the  shoulder  as  easy 


67. 


fAMOUS  TALES   OF   BATTLE,   CAMP  AND   SIEGE. 

as  slicing  butter.  I  halved  the  beggar  that  used  that 
'un,  but  there's  more  of  his  likes  up  above.  They 
don't  understand  thrustin',  but  they're  devil's  to  slice." 

The  men  strolled  across  the  tracks  to  inspect  the 
Afghan  prisoners.  They  were  unlike  any  "niggers" 
that  the  Fore  and  Aft  had  ever  met — these  huge,  black- 
haired,  scowling  sons  of  the  Beni-Israel.  As  the  men 
stared  the  Afghans  spat  freely,  and  muttered  one  to 
another  with  lowered  eyes. 

"My  eyes!  What  awful  swine!"  said  Jakin,  who 
was  in  the  rear  of  the  procession.  "Say,  old  man, 
how  you  got  puckrowed,  eh?  Kiswasti  you  wasn't 
hanged  for  your  ugly  face,  hey?" 

The  tallest  of  the  company  turned,  his  leg-irons 
clanking  at  the  movement,  and  stared  at  the  boy. 
"See!"  he  cried  to  his  fellows  in  Pushto.  "They  send 
children  against  us.      What  a  people,  and  what  fools!" 

"Hya!'  said  Jakin,  nodding  his  head  cheerily.  "You 
go  down-country.  Khana  get,  peenikapanee  get — live 
like  a  bloomin'  Raja  ke  marfik.  That's  a  better  bando- 
bust  than  baynit  get  it  in  your  innards.  Good-by,  ole 
man.  Take  care  o'  your  beautiful  figure-'ed,  an'  try 
to  look  kushy." 

The  men  laughed  and  fell  in  for  their  first  march 
when  they  began  to  realize  that  a  soldier's  life  was  not 
all  beer  and  skittles.  They  were  much  impressed  with 
the  size  and  bestial  ferocity  of  the  niggers  whom  they 
had  now  learned  to  call  "Paythans,"  and  more  with  the 
exceeding  discomfort  of  their  own  surroundings. 
Twenty  old  soldiers  in  the  corps  would  have  taught 
them  how  to  make  themselves  moderately  snug  at 
night,  but  they  had  no  old  soldiers,  and,  as  the  troops 
on  the  line  of  march  said,  "they  lived  like  pigs."  They 
learned  the  heart-breaking  cussedness  of  camp-kitchens 
and  camels  and  the  depravity  of  an  E.  P.  tent  and  a 
wither-wrung     mule.      They     studied     animalculae     in 

68 


THE  DRUMS  OF  THE  FORE  AND  AFT. 

water,  and  developed  a  few  cases  of  dysentery  in  their 
study. 

At  the  end  of  their  third  march  they  were  disa- 
greeably surprised  by  the  arrival  in  their  camp  of  a 
hammered  iron  slug,  which,  fired  from  a  steadyrest  at 
seven  hundred  yards,  flicked  out  the  brains  of  a  private 
seated  by  the  fire.  This  robbed  them  of  their  peace 
for  a  night,  and  was  the  beginning  of  a  long-range 
fire  carefully  calculated  to  that  end.  In  the  daytime 
they  saw  nothing  except  an  occasional  pufif  of  smoke 
from  a  crag  above  the  line  of  march.  At  night  there 
were  distant  spurts  of  flame  and  occasional  casualties, 
which  set  the  whole  camp  blazing  into  the  gloom, 
and,  occasionally,  into  opposite  tents.  Then  they 
swore  vehemently,  and  vowed  that  this  was  magnifi- 
cent, but  not  war. 

Indeed,  it  was  not.  The  regiment  could  not  halt 
for  reprisals  against  the  franctireurs  of  the  country- 
side. Its  duty  was  to  go  forward  and  make  connec- 
tion with  the  Scotch  and  Gurkha  troops  with  which  it 
was  brigaded.  The  Afghans  knew  this,  and  knew, 
too,  after  their  first  tentative  shots,  that  they  were  deal- 
ing with  a  raw  regiment.  Thereafter  they  devoted 
themselves  to  the  task  of  keeping  the  Fore  and  Aft 
on  the  strain.  Not  for  anything  would  they  have 
taken  equal  liberties  with  a  seasoned  corps — with 
the  wicked  little  Gurkhas,  whose  delight  it  was  to  lie 
out  in  the  open  on  a  dark  night  and  stalk  their  stalk- 
ers— with  the  terrible,  big  men  dressed  in  women's 
clothes,  who  could  be  heard  praying  to  their  God  in 
the  night-watches,  and  whose  peace  of  mind  no  amount 
of  "sniping"  could  shake — or  with  those  vile  Sikhs, 
who  march  so  ostentatiously  unprepared  and  who 
dealt  out  such  grim  reward  to  those  who  tried  to  profit 
by  that  unpreparedness.  This  white  regiment  was  dif- 
ferent— quite  different.      It   slept  like  a  hog,  and,  like 

,  69 


FAMOUS  TALES   OF   BATTLE,   CAMP  AND   SIEGE. 

a  hog.  charged  in  every  direction  when  it  was  roused. 
Its  sentries  walked  with  a  footfall  that  could  be  heard 
for  a  quarter  of  a  mile;  would  fire  at  anything  that 
moved  —even  a  driven  donkey — and  when  they  had 
once  fired,  could  be  scientifically  "rushed"  and  laid 
out  a  horror  and  an  ofYence  against  the  morning  sun. 
Then  there  were  camp-followers  who  straggled  and 
could  be  cut  up  without  fear.  Their  shrieks  would 
disturb  the  white  boys,  and  the  loss  of  their  services 
would  inconvenience  them  sorely. 

Thus,  at  every  march,  the  hidden  enemy  became 
bolder,  and  the  regiment  writhed  and  twisted  under 
attacks  it  could  not  avenge.  The  crowning  triumph 
was  a  sudden  night-rush  ending  in  the  cutting  of  many 
tent-ropes,  the  collapse  of  the  sodden  canvas,  and  a 
glorious  knifing  of  the  men  who  struggled  and  kicked 
below.  It  was  a  great  deed,  neatly  carried  out,  and 
it  shook  the  already  shaken  nerves  of  the  Fore  and 
Aft.  All  the  courage  that  they  had  been  required  to 
exercise  up  to  this  point  was  the  "two  o'clock  in  the 
morning  courage;"  and  they,  so  far,  had  only  suc- 
ceeded in  shooting  their  comrades  and  losing  their 
sleep. 

Sullen,  discontented,  cold,  savage,  sick,  with  their 
uniforms  dulled  and  unclean,  the  "Fore  and  Aft" 
joined  the  brigade. 

"I  hear  you  had  a  tough  time  of  it  coming  up,"  said 
the  brigadier.  But  when  he  saw  the  hospital  sheets 
his  face  fell. 

"This  is  bad,"  said  he  to  himself.  "They're  as  rotten 
as  sheep."  And  aloud  to  the  colonel:  "I'm  afraid  we 
can't  spare  you  just  yet.  We  want  all  we  have,  else 
I  should  have  given  you  ten  days  to  recruit  in." 

The  colonel  winced.  "On  my  honor,  sir,"  he  re- 
turned, "there  is  not  the  least  necessity  to  think  of 
sparing   us.      My   men    have   been   rather   mauled   and 


70 


THE  DRUMS  OF  THE  FORE  AND  AFT. 

upset  without  a  fair  return.  They  only  want  to  go  in 
somewhere  where  they  can  see  what's  before  them." 

"Can't  say  I  think  much  of  the  Fore  and  Fit,"  saicl 
the  brigadier  in  confidence  to  his  brigade-major. 
"They've  lost  all  their  soldiering;  and,  by  the  trim  of 
them,  might  have  marched  through  the  country  from 
the  other  side.  A  more  fagged-out  set  of  men  I 
never  put  eyes  on." 

"Oh,  they'll  improve  as  the  work  goes  on.  The 
parade  gloss  has  been  rubbed  ofif  a  little,  but  they'll 
put  on  field  polish  before  long,"  said  the  brigade- 
major,  "They've  been  mauled,  and  they  don't  quite 
understand  it." 

They  did  not.  All  the  hitting  was  on  one  side,  and 
it  was  cruelly  hard  hitting,  with  accessories  that  made 
them  sick.  There  was  also  the  real  sickness  that 
laid  hold  of  a  strong  man  and  dragged  him  howling 
to  the  grave.  Worst  of  all,  their  officers  knew  just 
as  little  of  the  country  as  the  men  themselves,  and 
looked  as  if  they  did.  The  Fore  and  Aft  were  in  a 
thoroughly  unsatisfactory  condition,  but  they  believed 
thr.t  all  would  be  well  if  they  could  once  get  a  fair 
go-in  at  the  enemy.  Pot-shots  up  and  down  the 
valleys  were  unsatisfactory,  and  the  bayonet  never 
seemed  to  get  a  chance.  Perhaps  it  was  as  well,  for 
a  long-limbed  Afghan  with  a  knife  had  a  reach  of  eight 
feet,  and  could  carry  away  enough  lead  to  disable 
three  Englishmen.  The  Fore  and  Fit  would  like 
some  rifle-practice  at  the  enemy — all  seven  hundred 
rifles  blazing  together.  That  wish  showed  the  mood 
of  the  men. 

The  Gurkhas  walked  into  their  camp,  and  in  broken, 
barrack-room  English,  strove  to  fraternize  with  them; 
offered  them  pipes  of  tobacco,  and  stood  them  treat 
at  the  canteen.  But  the  Fore  and  Aft,  not  knowing 
much  of  the  nature  of  the  Gurkhas,  treated  them  as 


71 


FAMOUS  TALES   OF   BATTLE,   CAMP  AND   SIEGE. 

they  would  treat  any  other  "niggers,"  and  the  httle 
men  in  green  trotted  back  to  their  firm  friends  the 
Highlanders,  and  with  many  grins  confided  to  them: 
'"That  dam  white  regiment  no  dam  use.  Sulky — ugh! 
Dirty — ugh!  Hya,  any  tot  for  Johnny?"  Whereat 
the  Highlanders  smote  the  Gurkhas  as  to  the  head, 
and  told  them  not  to  vilify  a  British  regiment,  and 
the  Gurkhas  grinned  cavernously,  for  the  Highland- 
ers were  their  elder  brothers  and  entitled  to  the  priv- 
ileges of  kinship.  The  common  soldier  who  touches 
a  Gurkha  is  more  than  likely  to  have  his  head  sliced 
open. 

Three  days  later  the  brigadier  arranged  a  battle 
according  to  the  rules  of  war  and  the  peculiarity  of 
the  Afghan  temperament.  The  enemy  were  massing 
in  inconvenient  strength  among  the  hills,  and  the 
moving  of  many  green  standards  warned  him  that 
the  tribes  were  "up"  in  aid  of  the  Afghan  regular 
troops.  A  squadron  and  a  half  of  Bengal  Lancers 
represented  the  available  cavalry,  and  two  screw-guns, 
borrowed  from  a  column  thirty  miles  away,  the  ar- 
tillery at  the  general's  disposal. 

"If  they  stand,  as  I've  a  very  strong  notion  that 
they  will,  I  fancy  we  shall  see  an  infantry  fight  that 
will  be  worth  watching,"  said  the  brigadier.  "We'll 
do  it  in  style.  Each  regiment  shall  be  played  into 
action  by  its  band,  and  we'll  hold  the  cavalry  in  re- 
serve." 

"For  all  the  reserve?"  somebody  asked. 

"For  all  the  reserve;  because  we're  going  to  crumple 
them  up,"  said  the  brigadier,  who  was  an  extraor- 
dinary brigadier,  and  did  not  believe  in  the  value  of 
a  reserve  when  dealing  wth  Asiatics.  And,  indeed, 
when  you  come  to  think  of  it,  had  the  British  army 
consistently  waited  for  reserves  in  all  its  little  affairs, 


72 


THE  DRUMS  OF  THE  FORE  AND  AFT. 

the  boundaries  of  our  Empire  would  have  stopped  at 
Brighton  Beach. 

That  battle  was  to  be  a  glorious  battle. 

The  three  regiments  debouching  from  three  separate 
gorges,  after  duly  crowning  the  heights  above,  were 
to  converge  from  the  centre,  left,  and  right  upon  what 
we  will  call  the  Afghan  army,  then  stationed  towards 
the  lower  extremity  of  a  flat-bottomed  valley.  Thus 
it  will  be  seen  that  three  sides  of  the  valley  practically 
belonged  to  the  English,  while  the  fourth  was  strictly 
Afghan  property.  In  the  event  of  defeat  the  Afghans 
had  the  rocky  hills  to  fly  to,  where  the  fire  from  the 
guerilla  tribes  in  aid  would  cover  their  retreat.  In 
the  event  of  victory,  these  same  tribes  would  rush 
down  and  lend  their  weight  to  the  rout  of  the  British. 

The  screw-guns  were  to  shell  the  head  of  each 
Afghan  rush  that  was  made  in  close  formation,  and 
the  cavalry,  held  in  reserve  in  the  right  valley,  were 
to  gently  stimulate  the  break-up  which  would  follow 
on  the  combined  attack.  The  brigadier,  sitting  upon 
a  rock  overlooking  the  valley,  would  watch  the  battle 
unrolled  at  his  feet.  The  Fore  and  Aft  would  de- 
bouch from  the  central  gorge,  the  Gurkhas  from  the 
left,  and  the  Highlanders  from  the  right,  for  the  rea- 
son that  the  left  flank  of  the  enemy  seemed  as  though 
it  required  the  most  hammering.  It  was  not  every 
day  that  an  Afghan  force  would  take  ground  in  the 
open,  and  the  brigadier  was  resolved  to  make  the 
most  of  it. 

"If  we  only  had  a  few  more  men,"  he  said,  plaintive- 
ly, "we  could  surround  the  creatures  and  crumble  'em 
up  thoroughly.  As  it  is,  I'm  afraid  we  can  only  cut 
them  up  as  they  run.      It's  a  great  pity." 

The  Fore  and  Aft  had  enjoyed  unbroken  peace  for 
five  days,  and  were  beginning,  in  spite  of  dysentery,  to 
recover  their   nerve.     But   they   were   not   happy,   for 


73 


FAMOUS  TALES   OF  BATTLE,   CAMP  AND   SIEGE. 

they  did  not  know  the  work  in  hand,  and,  had  they 
known,  would  not  have  known  how  to  do  it.  Through- 
out those  five  days,  in  which  old  soldiers  might  have 
taught  them  the  craft  of  the  game,  they  discussed  to- 
gether their  misadventures  in  the  past — how  such  an 
one  was  alive  at  dawn  and  dead  ere  the  dusk,  and  with 
what  shrieks  and  struggles  such  another  had  given 
up  his  soul  under  the  Afghan  knife.  Death  was  a  new 
and  horrible  thing  to  the  sons  of  mechanics  who  were 
used  to  die  decently  of  zymotic  disease;  and  their 
careful  conservation  in  barracks  had  done  nothing 
to  make  them  look  upon  it  with  less  dread. 

Very  early  in  the  dawn  the  bugles  began  to  blow, 
and  the  Fore  and  Aft,  filled  with  a  misguided  enthus- 
iasm, turned  out  without  waiting  for  a  cup  of  coffee 
and  a  biscuit;  and  were  rewarded  by  being  kept 
under  arms  in  the  cold,  while  the  other  regiments 
leisurely  prepared  for  the  fray.  All  the  world  knows 
that  it  is  ill  taking  the  breeks  of?  a  Highlander.  It  is 
much  iller  to  try  to  make  him  stir  unless  he  is  con- 
vinced of  the  necessity  for  haste. 

The  Fore  and  Aft  waited,  leaning  upon  their  rifles 
and  listening  to  the  protests  of  their  empty  stomachs. 
The  colonel  did  his  best  to  remedy  the  default  of 
lining  as  soon  as  it  was  borne  in  upon  him  that  the 
afifair  would  not  begin  at  once,  and  so  well  did  he 
succeed  that  the  cofTee  was  just  ready  when — the  men 
moved  ofT,  their  band  leading.  Even  then  there  had 
been  a  mistake  in  time,  and  the  Fore  and  Aft  came  out 
into  the  valley  ten  minutes  before  the  proper  hour. 
Their  band  wheeled  to  the  right  after  reaching  the 
open,  and  retired  behind  a  little  roclcy  knoll,  still  play- 
ing while  the  regiment  went  past. 

It  was  not  a  pleasant  sight  that  opened  on  the  un- 
obstructed view,  for  the  lower  end  of  the  valley  ap- 
peared to  be  filled  by  an  army  in  position — real  and 


74 


THE  DRUMS  OF  THE  FORE  AND  AFT. 

actual  regiments,  attired  in  red  coats,  and — of  this 
there  was  no  doubt — tiring  Martini-Henri  bullets, 
which  cut  up  the  ground  a  hundred  yards  in  front  of 
the  leading  company.  Over  that  pock-marked  ground 
the  regiment  had  to  pass,  and  it  opened  the  ball  with 
a  general  and  profound  courtesy  to  the  piping  pickets; 
ducking  in  perfect  time,  as  though  it  had  been  brazed 
on  a  rod.  Being  half-capable  of  thinking  for  itself,  it 
fired  a  volley  by  the  simple  process  of  pitching  its 
rifle  into  its  shoulder  and  pulling  the  trigger.  The 
bullets  may  have  accounted  for  some  of  the  watchers 
on  the  hillside,  but  they  certainly  did  not  affect  the 
mass  of  enemy  in  front,  while  the  noise  of  the  rifles 
drowned  any  orders  that  might  have  been  given. 

"Good  God!"  said  the  brigadier,  sitting  on  the  rock 
high  above  all;  "that  regiment  has  spoilt  the  whole 
show.  Hurry  up  the  others,  and  let  the  screw-guns 
get  off!" 

But  the  screw-guns,  in  working  round  the  heights, 
had  stumbled  upon  a  wasp's  nest  of  a  small  mud  fort, 
which  they  incontinently  shelled  at  eight  hundred 
yards,  to  the  huge  discomfort  of  the  occupants,  who 
were  unaccustomed  to  weapons  of  such  devilish  pre- 
cision. 

The  Fore  and  Aft  continued  to  go  forward,  but  with 
shortened  stride.  Where  were  the  other  regiments, 
and  why  did  these  niggers  use  Martinis?  They  took 
open  order  instinctively,  lying  down  and  firing  at 
random,  rushing  a  few  paces  forward  and  lying  down 
again,  according  to  the  regulations.  Once  in  this 
formation,  each  man  felt  himself  desperately  alone, 
and  edged  in  towards  his  fellow  for  comfort's  sake. 

Then  the  crack  of  his  neighbor's  rifle  at  his  ear  led 
him  to  fire  as  rapidly  as  he  could — again  for  the  sake 
of  comfort  of  the  noise.  The  reward  was  not  long 
delayed.      Five    volleys    plunged    the    files    in    banked 


75 


FAMOUS  TALES   OF   BATTLE,   CAMP  AND   SIEGE. 

smoke,  impenetrable  to  the  eye,  and  the  bullets  began 
to  take  ground  twenty  or  thirty  yards  in  front  of  the 
firers,  as  the  weight  of  the  bayonet  dragged  down, 
and  to  the  right  arms  wearied  with  holding  the  kick 
of  the  leaping  Martini.  The  company  commanders 
peered  helplessly  through  the  smoke,  the  more  nerv- 
ous mechanically  trying  to  fan  it  away  with  their  hel- 
mets. 

"High  and  to  the  left!"  bawled  a  captain  till  he  was 
hoarse.  "No  good!  Cease  firing,  and  let  it  drift 
away  a  bit!" 

Three  and  four  times  the  bugles  shrieked  the  order, 
and  when  it  was  obeyed  the  Fore  and  Aft  looked  that 
their  foe  should  be  lying  before  them  in  mown  swaths 
of  men.  A  light  wind  drove  the  smoke  to  leeward, 
and  showed  the  enemy  still  in  position  and  apparently 
unafifected.  A  quarter  of  a  ton  of  lead  had  been  buried 
a  furlong  in  front  of  them,  as  the  ragged  earth  attested. 

That  was  not  demoralizing.  They  were  waiting 
for  the  mad  riot  to  die  down,  and  were  firing  quietly 
into  the  heart  of  the  smoke.  A  private  of  the  Fore 
and  Aft  spun  up  his  company  shrieking  with  agony, 
another  was  kicking  the  earth  and  gasping,  and  a 
third,  ripped  through  the  lower  intestines  by  a  jagged 
bullet,  was  calling  loud  on  his  comrades  to  put  him 
out  of  his  pain.  These  were  the  casualties,  and  they 
were  not  soothing  to  hear  or  see.  The  smoke  cleared 
to  a  dull  haze. 

Then  the  foe  began  to  shout  with  a  great  shouting, 
and  a  mass — a  black  mass — detached  itself  from  the 
main  body,  and  rolled  over  the  ground  at  horrid  speed. 
It  was  composed  of,  perhaps,  three  hundred  men,  who 
would  shout  and  fire  and  slash  if  the  rush  of  their  fifty 
comrades  who  were  determined  to  die  carried  home. 
The  fifty  were  Ghazis.  half-maddened  with  drugs  and 
wholly    mad    with    religious    fanaticism.      When    they 

7€ 


THE  DRUMS  OF  THE  FORE  AND  AFT. 

rushed  the  British  fire  ceased,  and  in  the  lull  the  order 
was  given  to  close  ranks,  and  meet  them  with  the 
bayonet. 

Any  one  who  knew  the  business  could  have  told 
the  Fore  and  Aft  that  the  only  way  of  dealing  with  a 
Ghazi  rush  is  by  volleys  at  long  range;  because  a 
man  who  means  to  die,  who  desires  to  die,  who  will 
gain  heaven  by  dying,  must,  in  nine  cases  out  of  ten, 
kill  a  man  who  has  a  lingering  prejudice  in  favor  of  life 
if  he  can  close  with  the  latter.  Where  they  should  have 
closed  and  gone  forward,  the  Fore  and  Aft  opened 
out  and  skirmished,  and  where  they  should  have 
opened  out  and  fired,  they  closed  and  waited. 

A  man  dragged  from  his  blankets  half  awake  and 
unfed  is  never  in  a  pleasant  frame  of  mind.  Nor  does 
his  happiness  increase  when  he  watches  the  whites  of 
the  eyes  of  three  hundred  six-foot  fiends,  upon  whose 
beards  the  foam  is  lying,  upon  whose  tongues  is  a  roar 
of  wrath,  and  in  whose  hands  are  three-foot  knives. 

The  Fore  and  Aft  heard  the  Gurkha  bugles  bringing 
that  regiment  forward  at  the  double,  while  the  neigh- 
ing of  the  Highland  pipes  came  from  the  left.  They 
strove  to  stay  where  they  were,  though  the  bayonets 
wavered  down  the  line  like  the  oars  of  a  ragged  boat. 
Then  they  felt  body  to  body  the  amazing  physical 
strength  of  their  foes;  a  shriek  of  pain  ended  the  rush, 
and  the  knives  fell  amid  scenes  not  to  be  told.  The 
men  clubbed  together  and  smote  blindly — as  often  as 
not  at  their  own  fellows.  Their  front  crumpled  like 
paper,  and  the  fifty  Ghazis  passed  on;  their  backers, 
now  drunk  with  success,  fighting  as  madly  as  they. 

Then  the  rear-ranks  were  bidden  to  close  up,  and 
the  subalterns  dashed  into  the  stew — alone.  For  the 
rear-rank  had  heard  the  clamor  in  front,  the  yells  and 
the  howls  of  pain,  and  had  seen  the  dark,  stale  blood 
that  makes  afraid.     They  were  not  going  to  stay.     It 


77 


FAMOUS  TALES  OF   BATTLE,   CAMP  AND   SIEGE. 

was  the  rushing  of  the  camps  over  again.  Let  their 
officers  go  to  Hell,  if  they  chose;  they  would  get  away 
from  the  knives. 

'"Come  on!"  shrieked  the  subalterns,  and  their  men, 
cursing  them,  drew  back,  each  closing  into  his  neigh- 
bor and  wheelmg  round. 

Charteris  and  Devlin,  subalterns  of  the  last  com- 
pany, faced  their  death  alone  in  the  belief  that  their 
men  would  follow. 

"You've  killed  me,  you  cowards!"  sobbed  Devlin,  and 
dropped,  cut  from  the  shoulder-strap  to  the  centre  of 
the  chest,  and  a  fresh  detachment  of  his  men  retreat- 
ing, always  retreating,  trampled  him  under  foot  as 
they  made  for  the  pass  whence  they  had  emerged. 

"I  kissed  her  in  the  kitchen,  and  I  kissed  her  in  the  hall. 

Child'un,  child'un,  follow  me! 
Oh,  Golly!  said  the  cook;  is  he  gwine  to  kiss  us  all? 

Halla— Halla— Halla  Hallelujah!" 

The  Gurkhas  were  pouring  through  the  left  gorge 
and  over  the  heights  at  the  double,  to  the  invitation 
of  their  regimental  quickstep.  The  black  rocks  were 
crowned  with  dark  green  spiders  as  the  bugles  gave 
tongue  jubilantly: 

"In  the  morning!  In  the  morning  by  the  bright  light! 
When  Gabriel  blows  his  trumpet  in  the  morning!" 

The  Gurkha  rear-companies  tripped  and  blundered 
over  loose  stones.  The  front  files  halted  for  a  mo- 
ment to  take  stock  of  the  valley  and  to  settle  stray 
boot-laces.  Then  a  happy  little  sigh  of  contentment 
soughed  down  the  ranks,  and  it  was  as  though  the 
land  smiled,  for  behold  there  below  was  the  enemy, 
and  it  was  to  meet  them  that  the  Gurkhas  had  doubled 
so   hastily.       There    was    much    enemy.      There   would 

78 


THE  DRUMS  OF  THE  FORE  AND  AFT. 

be  amusement.  The  little  men  hitched  their  kukris 
well  to  hand,  and  gaped  expectantly  at  their  officers 
as  terriers  grin  ere  the  stone  is  cast  for  them  to  fetch. 
The  Gurkhas'  ground  sloped  downward  to  the  valley, 
and  they  enjoyed  a  fair  view  of  the  proceedings. 
They  sat  upon  the  bowlders  to  watch,  for  their  of- 
ficers were  not  going  to  waste  their  wind  in  assisting 
to  repulse  a  Ghazi  rush  more  than  half  a  mile  away. 
Let  the  white  men  look  to  their  own  front. 

"Hi!  yi!"  said  the  subadar-major,  who  was  sweat- 
ing profusely.  "Dam  fools  yonder,  stand  close-order! 
This  is  no  time  for  close  order;  it's  the  time  for  vol- 
leys.    Ugh!" 

Horrified,  amused,  and  indignant,  the  Gurkhas  be- 
held the  retirement — let  us  be  gentle — of  the  Fore  and 
Aft  with  a  running  chorus  of  oaths  and  commentaries. 
"They  run!  The  white  men  run!  Colonel  Sahib, 
may  we  also  do  a  little  running?"  murmured  Runbir 
Thappa,  the  senior  Jemadar. 

But  the  colonel  would  have  none  of  it.  "Let  the 
beggars  be  cut  up  a  little,"  said  he,  wrathfully. 
"Serves  'em  right.  They'll  be  prodded  into  facing 
round  in  a  minute."  He  looked  through  his  field- 
glasses,  and  caught  the  glint  of  an  officer's  sword. 

"Beating  'em  with  the  flat — damned  conscripts! 
How  the  Ghazis  are  walking  into  them!"  said  he. 

The  Fore  and  Aft,  heading  back,  bore  with  them  their 
officers.  The  narrowness  of  the  pass  forced  the  mob 
into  solid  formation,  and  the  rear  rank  delivered  some 
sort  of  a  wavering  volley.  The  Ghazis  drew  oflf,  for 
they  did  not  know  what  reserves  the  gorge  might 
hide.  Moreover,  it  was  never  wise  to  chase  white 
men  too  far.  They  returned  as  wolves  return  to  cover, 
satisfied  with  the  slaughter  that  they  had  done,  and  only 
stopping  to  slash  at  the  wounded  on  the  ground.  A 
quarter  of  a  mile  had  the  Fore  and  Aft  retreated,  and 


79 


FAMOUS  TALES  OF   BATTLE,   CAMP   AND   SIEGE. 

now,  jammed  in  the  pass,  was  quivering  with  pain, 
shaken  and  demoralized  with  fear,  while  the  officers, 
maddened  beyond  control,  smote  the  men  with  the 
hilts  and  the  flats  of  their  swords. 

"Get  back!  Get  back,  you  cowards — you  women! 
Right  about  face — column  of  companies,  form — you 
hounds!"  shouted  the  colonel,  and  the  subalterns  swore 
aloud.  But  the  regiment  wanted  to  go — to  go  any- 
where out  of  the  range  of  those  merciless  knives.  It 
swayed  to  and  fro  irresolutely  with  shouts  and  out- 
cries, while  from  the  right  the  Gurkhas  dropped  volley 
after  volley  of  cripple-stopper  Snider  bullets  at  long 
range  into  the  mob  of  the  Ghazis  returning  to  their 
own  troops. 

The  Fore  and  Aft  band,  though  protected  from  di- 
rect fire  by  the  rocky  knoll  under  which  it  had  sat 
down,  fled  at  the  first  rush.  Jakin  and  Lew  would 
have  fled  also,  but  their  short  legs  left  them  fifty  yards 
in  the  rear,  and  by  the  time  the  band  had  mixed  with 
the  regiment,  they  were  painfully  aware  that  they 
would  have  to  close  in  alone  and  unsupported. 

"Get  back  to  that  rock,"  gasped  Jakin.  "They  won't 
see  us  there." 

And  they  returned  to  the  scattered  instruments  of 
the  band;  their  hearts  nearly  bursting  their  ribs. 

"Here's  a  nice  show  for  us,"  said  Jakin,  throwing 
himself  full  length  on  the  ground.  "A  bloomin'  fine 
show  for  British  infantry.  Oh,  the  devils!  They've 
gone  an'  left  us  alone  here!     Wot'll  we  do?" 

Lew  took  possession  of  a  cast-off  water  bottle, 
which  naturally  was  full  of  canteen  rum,  and  drank 
till  he  coughed  again. 

"Drink,"  said  he,  shortly.  "They'll  come  back  in  a 
minute  or  two — you  see." 

Jakin  drank,  but  there  was  no  sign  of  the  regiment's 
return.    They  could  hear  a  dull  clamor  from  the  head 

80 


THE  DRUMS  OF  THE  FORE  AND  AFT. 

of  the  valley  retreat,  and  saw  the  Ghazis  slink  back, 
quickening  their  pace  as  the  Gurkhas  fired  at  them. 

"We're  all  that's  left  of  the  band,  an'  we'll  be  cut 
up  as  sure  as  death,"  said  Jakin. 

"I'll  die  game,  then,"  said  Lew,  thickly,  fumbling 
with  his  tiny  drummer's  sword.  The  drink  was  work- 
ing on  his  brain  as  it  was  on  Jakin's. 

"'Old  on!  I  know  something  better  than  fightin'," 
said  Jakin,  "stung  by  the  splendor  of  a  sudden 
thought,"  due  chiefly  to  rum.  "Tip  our  bloomin* 
cowards  yonder  the  word  to  come  back.  The  Pay- 
than  beggars  are  well  away.  Come  on.  Lew!  We 
won't  get  hurt.  Take  the  fife  an'  give  me  the  drum. 
The  Old  Step  for  all  your  bloomin'  guts  are  worth! 
There's  a  few  of  our  men  coming  back  now.  Stand 
up,  ye  drunken  little  defaulter.  By  your  right — quick 
march!" 

He  slipped  the  drum-sling  over  his  shoulder,  thrust 
the  fife  into  Lew's  hand,  and  the  two  boys  marched 
out  of  the  cover  of  the  rock  into  the  open,  making  a 
hideous  hash  of  the  first  bars  of  the  "British  Grena- 
diers." 

As  Lew  had  said,  a  few  of  the  Fore  and  Aft  were 
coming  back,  sullenly  and  shame-facedly,  under  the 
stimulus  of  blows  and  abuse;  their  red  coats  shone 
at  the  head  of  the  valley,  and  behind  them  were  wav- 
ering bayonets.  But  between  this  shattered  line  and 
the  enemy,  who,  with  Afghan  suspicion,  feared  that 
the  hasty  retreat  meant  an  ambush,  and  had  not 
moved  therefore,  lay  half  a  mile  of  a  level  ground 
dotted  only  by  the  wounded. 

The  tune  settled  into  full  swing  and  the  boys  kept 
shoulder  to  shoulder,  Jakin  banging  the  drum  as  one 
possessed.  The  one  fife  made  a  thin  and  pitiful 
squeaking,  but  the  tune  carried  far,  even  to  the  Gur- 
khas. 


8i 


FAMOUS  TALES   OF  BATTLE,   CAMP  AND   SIEGE. 

"Come  on,  you  dogs!"  muttered  Jakin  to  himself. 
"Are  we  to  play  forhever?'  Lew  was  staring  straight 
in  front  of  him  and  marching  more  stiffly  than  ever 
he  had  done  on  parade. 

And  in  bitter  mockery  of  the  distant  mob,  the  old 
tune  of  the  Old  Line  shrilled  and  rattled: 

"Some  talk  of  Alexander, 

And  some  of  Hercules; 
Of  Hector  and  Lysander, 

And  such  great  names  as  these!" 

There  was  a  far-ofif  clapping  of  hands  from  the 
Gurkhas,  and  a  roar  from  the  Highlanders  in  the  dis- 
tance, but  never  a  shot  was  fired  by  British  or  Afghan. 
The  two  little  red  dots  moved  forward  in  the  open 
parallel  to  the  enemy's  front. 

"But  of  all  the  world's  great  heroes 
There's  none  that  can  compare, 

With  a  tow-row-row-row-row-row, 
To  the  British  Grenadier!" 

The  men  of  the  Fore  and  Aft  were  gathering  thick 
at  the  entrance  into  the  plain.  The  brigadier  on  the 
heights  far  above  was  speechless  with  rage.  Still  no 
movement  from  the  enemy.  The  day  stayed  to  watch 
the  children. 

Jakin  halted  and  beat  the  long  roll  of  the  Assembly, 
while  the  fife  squealed  despairingly. 

"Right  about  face!  Hold  up.  Lew,  you're  drunk," 
said  Jakin.     They  wheeled  and  marched  back: 

"Those  heroes  of  antiquity 

Ne'er  saw  a  cannon-ball. 
Nor  knew  the  force  o'  powder," 


82 


THE    DRUMS    OF    THE    FORE    AND    AFT. 
"Here  they  come!"  said  Jakin.     "Go  on.  Lew:" 
"To  scare  their  foes  withal!" 

The  Fore  and  Aft  were  pouring  out  of  the  valley. 
What  officers  had  said  to  men  in  that  time  of  shame 
and  humiliation  will  never  be  known;  for  neither  of- 
ficers nor  men  speak  of  it  now. 

"They  are  coming  anew!"  shouted  a  priest  among 
the  Afghans.  "Do  not  kill  the  boys!  Take  them 
alive,  and  they  shall  be  of  our  faith." 

But  the  first  volley  had  been  fired,  and  Lew  dropped 
on  his  face.  Jakin  stood  for  a  minute,  spun  round 
and  collapsed,  as  the  Fore  and  Aft  came  forward,  the 
maledictions  of  their  ofificers  in  their  ears,  and  in 
their  hearts  the  shame  of  open  shame. 

Half  the  men  had  seen  the  drummers  die,  and  they 
made  no  sign.  They  did  not  even  shout.  They 
doubled  out  straight  across  the  plain  in  open  order, 
and  they  did  not  fire. 

"This,"  said  the  colonel  of  Gurkhas,  softly,  "is  the 
real  attack,  as  it  ought  to  have  been  delivered.  Come 
on,  my  children." 

"Ulu-lu-lu-lu!"  squealed  the  Gurkhas,  and  came 
down  with  a  joyful  clicking  of  kukris — ^those  vicious 
Gurkha  knives. 

On  the  right  there  was  no  rush.  The  Highlanders, 
cannily  commending  their  souls  to  God  (for  it  mat- 
ters as  much  to  a  dead  man  whether  he  has  been  shot 
in  a  border  scuffle  or  at  Waterloo),  opened  out  and 
fired  according  to  their  custom —  that  is  to  say,  with- 
out heat  and  without  intervals — while  the  screw-guns, 
having  disposed  of  the  impertinent  mud  fort  afore- 
mentioned, dropped  shell  after  shell  into  the  clusters 
round  the  flickering  green  standards  on  the  heights. 

"Charrging  is  an  unfortunate  necessity,"  murmured 

83 


FAMOUS  TALES   OF   BATTLE,   CAMP  AND   SIEGE. 

the  color-sergeant  of  the  right  company  of  the  High- 
landers. 

"It  makes  the  men  sweer  so;  but  I  am  thinkin'  that 
it  will  come  to  a  charrge  if  these  black  devils  stand 
much  longer.  Stewarrt,  man,  you're  firing  into  the 
eye  of  the  sun,  and  he'll  not  take  any  harm  for  Gov- 
ernment ammuneetion.  A  foot  lower  and  a  great  deal 
slower!  What  are  the  English  doing?  They're  very 
quiet  there  in  the  centre.     Running  again? 

The  English  were  not  running.  They  were  hack- 
ing and  hewing  and  stabbing,  for  though  one  white 
man  is  seldom  physically  a  match  for  an  Afghan  in  a 
sheepskin  or  wadded  coat,  yet,  through  the  pressure 
of  many  white  men  behind,  and  a  certain  thirst  for 
revenge  in  his  heart,  he  becomes  capable  of  doing 
much  with  both  ends  of  his  rifle.  The  Fore  and  Aft 
held  their  fire  till  one  bullet  could  drive  through  five 
or  six  men,  and  the  front  of  the  Afghan  force  gave 
on  the  volley.  Then  they  selected  their  men,  and 
slew  them  with  deep  gasps  and  short  hacking  coughs, 
and  groanings  of  leather  belts  against  strained  bodies, 
and  realized  for  the  first  time  that  an  Afghan  attacked 
is  far  less  formidable  than  an  Afghan  attacking;  which 
fact  old  soldiers  might  have  told  them. 

But  they  had  no  old  soldiers  in  their  ranks. 

The  Gurkhas'  stall  at  the  bazar  was  the  noisiest, 
for  the  men  were  engaged — to  a  nasty  noise  as  of 
beef  being  cut  on  the  block — with  the  kukri,  which 
they  preferred  to  the  bayonet;  well  knowing  how  the 
Afghan  hates  the  half-moon  blade. 

As  the  Afghans  wavered,  the  green  standards  on 
the  mountain  moved  down  to  assist  them  in  a  last 
rally.  Which  was  unwise.  The  Lancers,  chafing  in 
the  right  gorge,  had  thrice  despatched  their  only  sub- 
altern as  galloper  to  report  on  the  progress  of  affairs. 
On  the  third  occasion  he  returned,  with  a  bullet-graze 

84 


THE  DRUMS  OF  THE  FORE  AND  AFT. 

on  his  knee,  swearing  strange  oaths  in  Hindustani,  and 
saying  that  all  things  were  ready.  So  that  squadron 
swung  round  the  right  of  the  Highlanders  with  a 
wicked  whistling  of  wind  in  the  pennons  of  its  lances, 
and  fell  upon  the  remnant  just  when,  according  to 
all  the  rules  of  war,  it  should  have  waited  for  the  foe 
to  show  more  signs  of  wavering. 

But  it  was  a  dainty  charge,  deftly  delivered,  and  it 
ended  by  the  cavalry  finding  itself  at  the  head  of  the 
pass  by  which  the  Afghans  intended  to  retreat;  and 
down  the  track  that  the  lances  had  made  streamed 
two  companies  of  the  Highlanders,  which  was  never 
intended  by  the  brigadier.  The  new  development 
was  successful.  It  detached  the  enemy  from  his  base 
as  a  sponge  is  torn  from  a  rock,  and  left  him  ringed 
about  with  fire  in  that  pitiless  plain.  And  as 
a  sponge  is  chased  round  the  bath-tub  by  the  hand 
of  the  bather,  so  were  the  Afghans  chased  till  they 
broke  into  little  detachments,  much  more  difficult  to 
dispose  of  than  large  masses. 

"See!"  quoth  the  brigadier.  "Everything  has  come 
as  I  arranged.  We've  cut  their  base,  and  now  we'll 
bucket  'em  to  pieces." 

A  direct  hammering  was  all  that  the  brigadier  had 
dared  to  hope  for,  considering  the  size  of  the  force 
at  his  disposal;  but  men  who  stand  or  fall  by  the 
errors  of  their  opponents  may  be  forgiven  for  turning 
Chance  into  Design.  The  bucketing  went  forward 
merrily.  The  Afghan  forces  were  upon  the  run — the 
run  of  wearied  wolves  who  snarl  and  bite  over  their 
shoulders.  The  red  lances  dipped  by  twos  and  threes, 
and,  with  a  shriek,  up  rose  the  lance-butt,  like  a  spar 
on  a  stormy  sea,  as  the  trooper  cantering  forward 
cleared  his  point.  The  Lancers  kept  between  their 
prey  and  the  steep  hills,  for  all  who  could  were  trying 
to  escape  from  the  valley  of  death.     The  Highlanders 

85 


FAMOUS  TALES   OF   BATTLE,   CAMP  AND   SIEGE. 

gave  the  fugitives  two  hundred  yards'  law,  and  then 
brought  them  down,  gasping  and  choking  ere  they 
could  reach  the  protection  of  the  bowlders  above.  The 
Gurkhas  followed  suit;  but  the  Fore  and  Aft  were 
killing  on  their  own  account,  for  they  had  penned  a 
mass  of  men  between  their  bayonets  and  a  wall  of  rock, 
and  the  flash  of  the  rifles  was  lighting  the  wadded 
coats. 

"We  cannot  hold  them,  Captain  Sahib!"  panted  a 
Ressaidar  of  Lancers.  "Let  us  try  the  carbine.  The 
lance  is  good,  but  it  wastes  time." 

They  tried  the  carbine,  and  still  the  enemy  melted 
away — fled  up  the  hills  by  hundreds  when  there  were 
only  twenty  bullets  to  stop  them.  On  the  heights 
the  screw-guns  ceased  firing — they  had  run  out  of 
ammunitioa — and  the  brigadier  groaned,  for  the 
musketry  fire  could  not  sufficiently  smash  the  retreat. 
Long  before  the  last  volleys  were  fired,  the  litters 
were  out  in  force  looking  for  the  wounded.  The  bat- 
tle was  over,  and,  but  for  want  of  fresh  troops,  the 
Afghans  would  have  been  wiped  off  the  earth.  As  it 
was,  they  counted  their  dead  by  hundreds,  and  no- 
where were  the  dead  thicker  than  in  the  track  of  the 
Fore  and  Aft. 

But  the  regiment  did  not  cheer  with  the  Highland- 
ers, nor  did  they  dance  uncouth  dances  with  the 
Gurkhas  among  the  dead.  They  looked  under  their 
brows  at  the  colonel  as  they  leaned  upon  their  rifles 
and  panted. 

"Get  back  to  camp,  you!  Haven't  you  disgraced 
yourselves  enough  for  one  day?  Go  and  look  to  the 
wounded.  It's  all  you're  fit  for,"  said  the  colonel. 
Yet  for  the  past  hour  the  Fore  and  Aft  had  been 
doing  all  that  mortal  commander  could  expect.  They 
had  lost  heavily  because  they  did  not  know  how  to 
set   about   their   business    with   proper    skill,    but   they 


86 


THE  DRUMS  OF  THE  FORE  AND  AFT. 

had  borne  themselves  gallantly,  and  this  was  their 
reward. 

A  young  and  sprightly  color-sergeant,  who  had 
begun  to  imagine  himself  a  hero,  offered  his  water- 
bottle  to  a  Highlander,  whose  tongue  was  black  with 
thirst.  "I  drink  with  no  cowards,"  answered  the 
youngster  huskily,  and,  turning  to  a  Gurkha,  said, 
"Hya,  Johnny!  Drink  water  got  it?"  The  Gurkha 
grinned  and  passed  his  bottle.  The  Fore  and  Aft  said 
no  word. 

They  went  back  to  camp  when  the  field  of  strife 
had  been  a  littl«  mopped  up  and  made  presentable, 
and  the  brigadier,  who  saw  himself  a  knight  in  three 
months,  was  the  only  soul  who  was  complimentary  to 
them.  The  colonel  was  heart-broken,  and  the  officers 
were  savage  and  sullen. 

"Well,"  said  the  brigadier,  "they  are  young  troops, 
of  course;  and  it  was  not  unnatural  that  they  should 
retire  in  disorder  for  a  bit." 

"Oh,  my  only  Aunt  Maria!"  murmured  a  junior 
staff  officer.     "Retire  in  disorder!     It  was  a  bally  run!" 

"But  they  came  again,  as  we  all  know,"  cooed  the 
brigadier,  the  colonel's  ashy-white  face  before  him; 
"and  they  behaved  as  well  as  could  possibly  be  ex- 
pected. Behaved  beautifully,  indeed!  I  was  watch- 
ing them.  It's  not  a  matter  to  take  to  heart,  colonel. 
As  some  German  general  said  of  his  men.  they  wanted 
to  be  shooted  over  a  little,  that  was  all."  To  himself 
he  said:  "Now  they're  blooded,  I  can  give  'em  re- 
sponsible work.  It's  as  well  that  they  got  what  they 
did.  Teach  'em  more  than  half  a  dozen  rifle  flirta- 
tions, that  will — later — run  alone  and  bite.  Poor  old 
colonel,  though." 

All  that  afternoon  the  heliograph  winked  and  flick- 
ered on  the  hills,  striving  to  tell  the  good  news  to  a 
mountain  forty  miles  away.     And  in  the  evening  there 

87 


FAMOUS  TALES   OF   BATTLE,   CAMP  AND   SIEGE. 

arrived,  dusty,  sweating,  and  sore,  a  misguided  cor- 
respondent, who  had  gone  out  to  assist  at  a  trumpery 
village-burning,  and  who  had  read  oflf  the  message 
!rom  afar  cursing  his  luck  the  while. 

"Let's  have  the  details  somehow — as  full  as  ever 
you  can,  please.  It's  the  first  time  I've  ever  been  left 
this  campaign,"  said  the  correspondent  to  the  briga- 
dier; and  the  brigadier,  nothing  loath,  told  him  how 
an  army  of  communication  had  been  crumpled  up, 
destroyed,  and  all  but  annihilated  by  the  craft,  strategy, 
wisdom  and  foresight  of  the  brigadier. 

But  some  say,  and  among  these  be  the  Gurkhas 
who  watched  on  the  hillside,  that  that  battle  was  won 
by  Jakin  and  Lew,  whose  little  bodies  were  borne  up 
just  in  time  to  fit  two  gaps  at  the  head  of  the  big 
ditch-grave  for  the  dead  under  the  heights  of  Jagai. 


C/ESAR  AT  ALESIA 


C^SAR   AT   ALESIA 

James  Afit/iony  Froude 


TWLESIA,  like  Gergovia,  is  on  a  hill  sloping  off  all 
j\  round,  with  steep  and,  in  places,  precipitous  sides. 
It  lies  between  two  small  rivers,  the  Ose  and  the 
Oserain,  both  of  which  fall  into  the  Brenne  and  thence 
into  the  Seine.  Into  this  peninsula,  with  the  rivers  on 
each  side  of  him,  Vercingetorix  had  thrown  himself 
with  eighty  thousand  men.  Alesia  as  a  position  was 
impregnable  except  to  famine.  The  water  supply  was 
secure.  The  position  was  of  extraordinary  strength. 
The  rivers  formed  natural  trenches.  Below  the  town 
to  the  east  they  ran  parallel  for  three  miles  through 
an  open  alluvial  plain  before  they  reached  the  Brenne. 
In  every  other  direction  rose  rocky  hills  of  equal 
height  with  the  central  plateau,  originally  perhaps  one 
wide  tableland,  through  which  the  waters  had  ploughed 
out  the  valleys.  To  attack  Vercingetorix  where  he  had 
placed  himself  was  out  of  the  question;  but  to  blockade 
him  there,  to  capture  the  leader  of  the  insurrection  and 
his  whole  army,  and  so  in  one  blow  make  an  end  with 
it,  on  a  survey  of  the  situation  seemed  not  impossible. 
The  Gauls  had  thought  of  nothing  less  than  of  being 
besieged.  The  provisions  laid  in  could  not  be  con- 
siderable, and  so  enormoMS  a  multitude  could  not  hold 
out  many  days. 

At  once  the  legions  were  set  to  work  cutting  trenches 


91 


FAMOUS  TALES  OF  BATTLE,   CAMP  AND   SIEGE. 

or  building  walls  as  the  form  of  the  ground  allowed 
Camps  were  formed  at  different  spots,  and  twenty-three 
strong  blockhouses  at  the  points  which  were  least  de- 
fensible. The  lines  where  the  circuit  was  completed 
were  eleven  miles  long.  The  part  most  exposed  was  the 
broad  level  meadow  which  spread  out  to  the  west  to- 
wards the  Brenne  river.  Vercingetorix  had  looked  on 
for  a  time,  not  understanding  what  was  happening  to 
him.  When  he  did  understand  it,  he  made  desperate 
efforts  on  his  side  to  break  the  net  before  it  closed 
about  him.  But  he  could  do  nothing.  The  Gauls  could 
not  be  brought  to  face  the  Roman  entrenchments. 
Their  cavalry  were  cut  to  pieces  by  the  German  horse. 
The  only  hope  was  from  help  without,  and  before  the 
lines  were  entirely  finished  horsemen  were  sent  out 
with  orders  to  ride  for  their  lives  into  every  district 
in  Gaul  and  raise  the  entire  nation.  The  crisis  had 
come.  If  the  countrymen  of  Vercingetorix  were  worthy 
of  their  fathers,  if  the  enthusiasm  with  which  they  had 
risen  for  freedom  was  not  a  mere  emotion,  but  the  ex- 
pression of  a  real  purpose,  their  young  leader  called  on 
them  to  come  now,  every  man  of  them,  and  seize  Caesar 
in  the  trap  into  which  he  had  betrayed  himself.  If,  on 
the  other  hand,  they  were  careless,  if  they  allowed  him 
and  his  eighty  thousand  men  to  perish  without  an  effort 
to  save  them,  the  independence  which  they  had  ceased 
to  deserve  would  be  lost  forever.  He  had  food,  he  bade 
the  messengers  say,  for  thirty  days;  by  thrifty  manage- 
ment it  might  be  made  to  last  a  few  days  longer.  In 
thirty  days  he  should  look  for  relief. 

The  horsemen  sped  away  like  the  bearers  of  the  fiery 
cross.  Caesar  learnt  from  deserters  that  they  had  gone 
out,  and  understood  the  message  which  they  carried. 
Already  he  was  besieging  an  army  far  outnumbering 
his  own.  If  he  persevered,  he  knew  that  he  might  count 
with  certainty  on  being  attacked  by  a  second  army  ira- 


92 


The  Death  of  Caesar 


■ted 

•iie 

to- 

ooked  on 


The  Gauls  could 

rts. 

'■'se. 

rhe 

•-•ut 

■'  district 

isi.   had 

■thy 

.  >   had 

I  the  ex- 

";  '  on 

U,  on 
'od  him 

,...ed 
,  he  bade 


•  nd  army  im- 


J 


C^SAR   AT   ALESIA, 

measurably  larger.  But  the  time  allowed  for  the  col- 
lection of  so  many  men  might  also  serve  to  prepare 
for  their  reception.  Vercingetorix  said  rightly  that  the 
Romans  won  their  victories,  not  by  superior  courage, 
but  by  superior  science.  The  same  power  of  measuring 
the  exact  facts  of  the  situation  which  determined  C?esar 
to  raise  the  siege  of  Gergovia  decided  him  to  hold  on  at 
Alesia.  He  knew  exactly,  to  begin  with,  how  long 
Vercingetorix  could  hold  out.  It  was  easy  for  him  to 
collect  provisions  within  his  lines  which  would  feed  his 
own  army  a  few  days  longer.  Fortifications  the  same 
in  kind  as  those  which  prevented  the  besieged  from 
breaking  out  would  equally  serve  to  keep  the  assailants 
oflf.  His  plan  was  to  make  a  second  line  of  works — an 
exterior  line  as  well  as  an  interior  line;  and  as  the  extent 
to  be  defended  would  thus  be  doubled,  he  made  them  of 
a  peculiar  construction,  to  enable  one  man  to  do  the 
work  of  two.  There  is  no  occasion  to  describe  the  rows 
of  ditches,  dry  and  wet,  the  staked  pitfalls,  the  cervi, 
pronged  instruments  like  the  branching  horns  of  a  stag; 
the  stimuli,  barbed  spikes  treacherously  concealed  to 
impale  the  unwary  and  hold  him  fast  when  caught,  with 
which  the  ground  was  sown  in  irregular  rows;  the 
vallus  and  the  lorica,  and  all  the  varied  contrivances 
of  Roman  engineering  genius.  Military  students  will 
read  the  particulars  for  themselves  in  Caesar's  own 
language.  Enough  that  the  work  was  done  within  the 
time,  with  the  legions  in  perfect  good  humor,  and  giv- 
ing jesting  names  to  the  new  instruments  of  torture  as 
Caesar  invented  them.  Vercingetorix  now  and  then 
burst  out  on  the  working  parties,  but  produced  no 
efifect.  They  knew  what  they  were  to  expect  when  the 
thirty  days  were  out;  but  they  knew  their  commander, 
and  had  absolute  confidence  in  his  judgment. 

Meanwhile,  on  all  sides,  the  Gauls  were  responding  to 
the  call.     From  every  quarter,  even  from  far-oflf  parts  of 


93 


FAMOUS  TALES  OF   BATTLE,   CAMP   AXD   SIEGE. 

Belgium,  horse  and  foot  were  streaming  along  th« 
roads.  Commms  of  Arras,  Caesar's  old  friend,  who  had 
gone  with  him  to  Britain,  was  caught  with  the  same 
frenzy,  and  was  hastening  among  the  rest  to  help  to  end 
him.  At  last  two  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  of  the 
best  fighting  men  that  Gaul  could  produce  had  collected 
at  the  appointed  rendezvous,  and  advanced  with  the 
easy  conviction  that  the  mere  impulse  of  so  mighty  a 
force  would  sweep  Caesar  off  the  earth.  They  were  late 
in  arriving.  The  thirty  days  had  passed,  and  there  were 
no  signs  of  the  coming  deliverers.  Eager  eyes  were 
straining  from  the  heights  of  the  plateau,  but  nothing 
was  seen  save  the  tents  of  the  legions  or  the  busy  units 
of  men  at  work  on  the  walls  and  trenches.  Anxious 
debates  were  held  among  the  beleaguered  chiefs.  The 
faint-hearted  wished  to  surrender  before  they  were 
starved.  Others  were  in  favor  of  a  desperate  effort  to 
cut  their  way  through  or  die.  One  speech  Caesar  pre- 
serves for  its  remarkable  and  frightful  ferocity.  A 
prince  of  Auvergne  said  that  the  Romans  conquered  to 
enslave  and  beat  down  the  laws  and  liberties  of  free 
nations  under  the  lictors'  axes,  and  he  proposed  that 
sooner  than  yield  they  should  kill  and  eat  those  who 
were  useless  for  fighting. 

Vercingetorix  was  of  noble  nature.  To  prevent  the 
adoption  of  so  horrible  an  expedient,  he  ordered  the 
peaceful  inhabitants,  with  their  wives  and  children,  to 
leave  the  town.  Caesar  forbade  them  to  pass  his  lines. 
Cruel — but  war  is  cruel;  and  where  a  garrison  is  to  be 
reduced  by  famine  the  laws  of  it  are  inexorable. 

But  the  day  of  expected  deliverance  dawned  at  last. 
Five  miles  beyond  the  Brenne  the  dust-clouds  of  the 
approaching  host  were  seen,  and  then  the  glitter  of 
their  lances  and  their  waving  pennons.  They  swam  the 
river.  They  filled  the  plain  below  the  town.  From  the 
heights  of  Alesia  the  whole  scene  lay  spread  under  the 


94 


C^SAR   AT  ALESIA 

feet  of  the  besieged.  Vercingetorix  came  down  on  the 
slope  to  the  edge  of  the  first  trench,  prepared  to  cross 
when  the  turn  of  battle  should  give  him  a  chance  to 
strike.  Caesar  sent  out  his  German  horse,  and  stood 
himself  watching  from  the  spur  of  an  adjoining  hill. 
The  Gauls  had  brought  innumerable  archers  with  them. 
The  horse  flinched  slightly  under  the  showers  of  arrows, 
and  shouts  of  triumph  rose  from  the  lines  of  the  town; 
but  the  Germans  rallied  again,  sent  the  cavalry  of  the 
Gauls  flying,  and  hewed  down  the  unprotected  archers. 
Vercingetorix  fell  back  sadly  to  his  camp  on  the  hill, 
and  then  for  a  day  there  was  a  pause.  The  relieving 
army  had  little  food  with  them,  and  if  they  acted  at  all 
must  act  quickly.  They  spread  over  the  country  col- 
lecting fagots  to  fill  the  trenches,  and  making  ladders 
to  storm  the  walls.  At  midnight  they  began  their  as- 
sault on  the  lines  in  the  plain;  and  Vercingetorix,  hear- 
ing by  the  cries  that  the  work  had  begun,  gave  his  own 
signal  for  a  general  sally.  The  Roman  arrangements 
had  been  completed  long  before.  Every  man  knew  his 
post.  The  slings,  the  crossbows,  the  scorpions  were 
all  at  hand  and  in  order.  Mark  Antony  and  Gains  Tre- 
bonius  had  each  a  flying  division  under  them  to  carry 
help  where  the  pressure  was  most  severe.  The  Gauls 
were  caught  on  the  cervi,  impaled  on  the  stimuli,  and 
fell  in  heaps  under  the  bolts  and  balls  which  were 
poured  from  the  walls.  They  could  make  no  impression, 
and  fell  back  at  daybreak  beaten  and  dispirited.  Ver- 
cingetorix had  been  unable  even  to  pass  the  moats  and 
trenches,  and  did  not  come  into  action  till  his  friends 
had  abandoned  the  attack. 

The  Gauls  had  not  yet  taken  advantage  of  their  enor- 
mous numbers.  Defeated  on  the  level  ground,  they 
next  tried  the  heights.  The  Romans  were  distributed 
in  a  ring  now  fourteen  miles  in  extent.  On  the  north 
side,  beyond  the  Ose,  the  works  were  incomplete,  owing 


95 


FAMOUS  TALES   OF  BATTLE,   CAMi-  AND   SIEGE. 

to  the  nature  of  the  ground,  and  their  lines  lay  on  the 
slope  of  the  hills  descending  towards  the  river.  Sixty 
thousand  picked  men  left  the  Gauls'  camp  before  dawn; 
they  stole  round  by  a  distant  route,  and  were  allowed  to 
rest  concealed  in  a  valley  till  the  middle  of  the  day.  At 
noon  they  came  over  the  ridge  at  the  Romans'  back; 
and  they  had  the  best  of  the  position,  being  able  to  at- 
tack from  above.  Their  appearance  was  the  signal  for 
a  general  assault  on  all  sides,  and  for  a  determined  sally 
by  Vercingetorix  from  within.  Thus  before,  behind, 
and  everywhere,  the  legions  were  assailed  at  the  same 
moment;  and  Csesar  observes  that  the  cries  of  battle  in 
the  rear  are  always  more  trying  to  men  than  the  fiercest 
onset  upon  them  in  front;  because  what  they  cannot  see 
they  imagine  more  formidable  than  it  is,  and  they  de- 
pend for  their  own  safety  on  the  courage  of  others. 

Caesar  had  taken  his  stand  where  he  could  command 
the  whole  action.  There  was  no  smoke  in  those  en- 
gagements, and  the  scene  was  transparently  visible. 
Both  sides  felt  that  the  deciding  trial  had  come.  In  the 
plain  the  Gauls  made  no  more  impression  than  on  the 
preceding  day.  At  the  weak  point  on  the  north  the 
Romans  were  forced  back  down  the  slope,  and  could 
not  hold  their  positions.  Csesar  saw  it,  and  sent  La- 
bienus  with  six  cohorts  to  their  help.  Vercingetorix 
had  seen  it  also,  and  attacked  the  interior  lines  at  the 
same  spot.  Decimus  Brutus  was  then  dispatched  also, 
and  then  Caius  Fabius.  Finally,  when  the  fighting 
grew  desperate,  he  left  his  own  station;  he  called  up  the 
reserves  which  had  not  yet  been  engaged,  and  he  rode 
across  the  field,  conspicuous  in  his  scarlet  dress  and 
with  his  bare  head,  cheering  on  the  men  as  he  passed 
each  point  where  they  were  engaged,  and  hastening  to 
the  scene  where  the  chief  danger  lay.  He  sent  round  a 
few  squadrons  of  horse  to  the  back  of  the  hills  which 
the   Gauls   had  crossed  in  the   morning.     He  himself 

9& 


C^SAR   AT   ALESIA. 

joined  Labienus.  Wherever  he  went  he  carried  en- 
thusiasm along  with  him.  The  legionaries  flung  away 
their  darts  and  rushed  upon  the  enemy  sword  in  hand. 
The  cavalry  appeared  above  on  the  heights.  The  Gauls 
wavered,  broke  and  scattered.  The  German  horse  were 
among  them,  hewing  down  the  brave  but  now  helpless 
patriots  who  had  come  with  such  high  hopes  and  had 
fought  so  gallantly.  Out  of  the  sixty  thousand  that 
had  sallied  forth  in  the  morning,  all  but  a  draggled  rem- 
nant lay  dead  on  the  hillsides.  Seventy-four  standards 
were  brought  in  to  Caesar.  The  besieged  retired  into 
Alice  (Alesia)  again  in  despair.  The  vast  hosts  that 
were  to  have  set  them  free  melted  away.  In  the  morn- 
ing they  were  streaming  over  the  country,  making  back 
for  their  homes,  with  Csesar's  cavalry  behind  them, 
cutting  them  down  and  capturing  them  in  thousands. 

The  work  was  done.  The  most  daring  feat  in  the 
military  annals  of  mankind  had  been  successfully  ac- 
complished. A  Roman  army,  which  could  not  at  the 
utmost  have  amounted  to  fifty  thousand  men,  had  held 
blockaded  an  army  of  eighty  thousand — not  weak 
Asiatics,  but  European  soldiers,  as  strong  and  as  brave 
individually  as  the  Italians  were;  and  they  had  defeated, 
beaten  and  annihilated  another  army  which  had  come 
expecting  to  overwhelm  them,  five  times  as  large  as 
their  own. 

Seeing  that  all  was  over,  Vercingetorix  called  the 
chiefs  about  him.  He  had  gone  into  the  war,  he  said, 
for  no  object  of  his  own,  but  for  the  liberty  of  his  coun- 
try. Fortune  had  gone  against  him;  and  he  advised 
them  to  make  their  peace,  either  by  killing  him  and 
sending  his  head  to  the  conqueror  or  by  delivering  him 
up  alive.  A  humble  message  of  submission  was  dis- 
patched to  Csesar.  He  demanded  an  unconditional  sur- 
render, and  the  Gauls,  starving  and  hopeless,  obeyed. 
The  Roman  general  sat  amidst  the  works  in  front  of  the 


97 


FAMOUS  TALES   OF   BATTLE,   CAMP  AND   SIEGE. 

camp  while  the  chiefs  one  by  one  were  produced  before 
him.  The  brave  Vercingetorix,  as  noble  in  his  calam- 
ity as  Caesar  himself  in  his  success,  was  reserved  to  be 
shown  in  triumph  to  the  populace  of  Rome.  The  whole 
of  his  army  were  prisoners  of  war.  The  ^dui  and 
Arverni  among  them  were  set  aside,  and  were  dismissed 
after  a  short  detention  for  political  reasons.  The  re- 
mainder w^ere  sold  to  the  contractors,  and  the  proceeds 
were  distributed  as  prize-money  among  the  legions. 


98 


A   SERVICE    OF    DANGER 

Amelia  B.  Edwards 


CHAPTER  I 

T  FREDERICK  GEORGE  BYNG,  who  write  this 
>  narrative  with  my  own  hand,  without  help  of 
spectacles,  am  so  old  a  man  that  I  doubt  if  I  now  have 
a  hundred  living  contemporaries  in  Europe.  I  was 
born  in  1780,  and  I  am  eighty-nine  years  of  age.  My 
reminiscences  date  so  far  back  that  I  almost  feel,  when 
I  speak  of  them,  as  if  I  belonged  to  another  world.  I 
remember  when  news  first  reached  England  of  the  tak- 
ing of  the  Bastille  in  1789.  I  remember  when  people, 
meeting  each  other  in  the  streets,  talked  of  Danton  and 
Robespierre,  and  the  last  victims  of  the  guillotine.  I 
remember  how  our  whole  household  was  put  into  black 
for  the  execution  of  Louis  XVI.,  and  how  my  mother, 
who  was  a  devout  Roman  Catholic,  converted  her 
oratory  for  several  days  into  a  chapelle  ardente.  That 
was  in  1793,  when  I  was  just  thirteen  years  of  age. 

Three  years  later,  when  the  name  of  General  Bona- 
parte was  fast  becoming  a  word  of  power  in  European 
history,  I  went  abroad,  and  influenced  by  considera- 
tions which  have  nothing  to  do  with  my  story,  entered 
the  Austrian  army. 

A  younger  son  of  a  younger  branch  of  an  ancient 
and  noble  house,  and  distantly  connected,  moreover, 


lOI 


FAMOUS  TALES   OF   BATTLE,   CAMP  AND   SIEGE. 

with  more  than  one  great  Austrian  family,  I  presented 
myself  at  the  Court  of  Vienna  under  peculiarly  favor- 
able auspices.  The  Archduke  Charles,  to  whom  I 
brought  letters  of  recommendation,  accorded  me  a 
gracious  welcome,  and  presented  me  almost  imme- 
ditely  upon  my  arrival  with  a  commission  in  a  cavalry 
corps  commanded  by  a  certain  Colonel  von  Beust, 
than  w-hom  a  more  unpopular  officer  did  not  serve  in 
the  Imperial  army. 

Hence,  I  was  glad  to  exchange,  some  months  later, 
into  Lichtenstein's  Cuirassiers.  In  this  famous  corps 
which  was  commanded  by  his  uncle  the  Prince  of 
Lichtenstein,  my  far-off  cousin,  Gustav  von  Lichten- 
stein,  had  lately  been  promoted  to  a  troop.  Serving 
in  the  same  corps,  sharing  the  same  hardships,  incur- 
ring the  same  dangers,  we  soon  became  sworn  friends 
and  comrades.  Together  we  went  through  the  disas- 
trous campaign  of  1797,  and  together  enjoyed  the  brief 
interval  of  peace  that  followed  upon  the  treaty  of 
Campo  Formio  and  the  cession  of  Venice.  Having 
succeeded  in  getting  our  leave  of  absence  at  the  same 
time,  we  then  travelled  through  Styria  and  Hungary. 
Our  tour  ended,  we  came  back  together  to  winter  quar- 
ters in  Vienna. 

When  hostilities  were  renewed  in  1800,  we  joyfully 
prepared  to  join  the  army  of  the  Inn.  In  peace  or  war, 
at  home  or  abroad,  we  two  held  fast  by  each  other. 
Let  the  world  go  round  as  it  might,  we  at  least  took 
life  gaily,  accepted  events  as  they  came,  and  went  on 
becoming  truer  and  stancher  friends  with  every  pass- 
ing day.  Never  were  two  men  better  suited.  We  un- 
derstood each  other  perfectly.  We  were  nearly  of  the 
same  age;  we  enjoyed  the  same  sports,  read  the  same 
books,  and  liked  the  same  people.  Above  all,  we  were 
both  passionately  desirous  of  military  glory,  and  we 
both  hated  the  French. 


102 


A  SERVICE  OF  DANGER 

Gustav  von  Lichtenstein,  however,  was  in  many 
respects,  both  physically  and  mentally,  my  superior. 
He  was  taller  than  myself,  a  finer  horseman,  a  swifter 
runner,  a  bolder  swimmer,  a  more  graceful  dancer. 
He  was  unequivocally  better-looking;  and  having  to 
great  natural  gifts  superadded  a  brilliant  University 
career  at  both  Gottingen  and  Leipzig,  he  was  as  un- 
equivocally better  educated.  Fair-haired,  blue-eyed, 
athletic — half  dreamer  and  poet,  half  sportsman  and 
soldier — now  lost  in  mists  of  speculative  philosophy — 
now  given  up  with  keen  enthusiasm  to  military  studies 
— the  idol  of  his  soldiers — the  beau  sabreur  of  his  corps 
— Gustav  von  Lichtenstein  was  then,  and  has  ever  since 
remained,  my  ideal  of  a  true  and  noble  gentleman.  An 
orphan  since  his  early  childhood,  he  owned  large  estates 
in  Franconia,  and  was,  moreover,  his  uncle's  sole  heir. 
He  was  just  twenty  when  I  first  came  to  know  him  per- 
sonally in  Vienna  in  1796;  but  his  character  was  already 
formed,  and  he  looked  at  least  four  years  older  than  his 
age.  When  I  say  that  he  was  even  then,  in  accordance 
with  a  family  arrangement  of  long  standing,  betrothed 
to  his  cousin  Constance  von  Adelheim,  a  rich  and  beau- 
tiful Franconian  heiress,  I  think  I  shall  have  told  all 
that  need  be  told  of  my  friend's  private  history. 

I  have  said  that  we  were  rejoiced  by  the  renewal  of 
histilities  in  1800;  and  we  had  good  reason  to  rejoice, 
he  as  an  Austrian,  I  as  an  Englishman;  for  the  French 
were  our  bitterest  enemies,  and  we  were  burning  to 
wipe  out  the  memory  of  Marengo.  It  was  in  the  month 
of  November  that  Gustav  and  I  received  orders  to  join 
our  regiment ;  and,  commanded  by  Prince  Lichtenstein 
in  person,  we  at  once  proceeded,  in  great  haste  and  very 
inclement  weather,  to  fall  in  with  the  main  body  of  the 
Imperial  forces  near  Landshut  on  the  Inn.  The  French, 
under  Moreau,  came  up  from  the  direction  of  Ampfing 
and    Miihldorf;     while    the    Austrians,    sixty    thousand 


103 


FAMOUS   TALES   OK   BATTLK,    CAMP   AND   SIEGE 

strong,  under  the  Archduke  John,  advanced  Upon  them 
from  Dorfen. 

Coming  upon  the  French  by  surprise  in  the  close 
neighborhood  of  Ampfing  on  the  30th,  we  fell  upon 
them  while  in  line  of  march,  threw  them  into  confusion, 
and  put  them  to  the  rout.  The  next  day  they  fell  back 
upon  that  large  plateau  which  lies  between  the  Isar 
and  the  Inn,  and  took  up  their  position  in  the  forest  of 
Hohenlinden.  We  ought  never  to  have  let  them  so  fall 
back.  We  ought  never  to  have  let  them  entrench  them- 
selves in  the  natural  fastness  of  that  immense  forest, 
which  has  been  truly  described  as  "a  great  natural 
stockade  between  six  and  seven  leagues  long,  and  from 
a  league  to  a  league  and  a  half  broad." 

We  had  already  achieved  a  brilliant  coup,  and  had  our 
general  known  how  to  follow  up  his  success,  the  whole 
fortune  of  the  campaign  would  in  all  probability 
have  been  changed.  But  the  Archduke  John,  though 
a  young  man  of  ability  and  sound  military  training, 
wanted  the  boldness  which  comes  of  experience,  and 
erred  on  the  side  of  over-caution. 

All  that  day  (the  2d  of  December)  it  rained  and 
sleeted  in  torrents.  An  icy  wind  chilled  us  to  the  bone. 
We  could  not  keep  our  camp-fires  alight.  Our  soldiers, 
however,  despite  the  dreadful  state  of  the  weather,  were 
in  high  spirits,  full  of  yesterday's  triumph,  and  longing 
for  active  work.  Officers  and  men  alike,  we  all  confi- 
dently expected  to  be  on  the  heels  of  the  enemy  soon 
after  daybreak,  and  waited  impatiently  for  the  word  of 
command.  But  we  waited  in  vain.  At  midday  the 
Archduke  summoned  a  council  of  his  generals.  But 
the  council  by-and-by  broke  up ;  the  afternoon  wore  on ; 
the  early  winter  dusk  closed  in ;  and  nothing  was  done. 

That  night  there  was  discontent  in  the  camp.  The 
officers  looked  grave.  The  men  murmured  loudly,  as 
they  gathered  round  the   sputtering  embers  and  tried 


104 


A    SERVICE  OF  DANGER 

in  vain  to  fence  off  the  wind  and  rain.  By-and-by  the 
wind  ceased  blowing  and  the  rain  ceased  falling,  and  it 
began  to  snow. 

At  midnight,  my  friend  and  I  were  sitting  together 
in  our  little  tent,  trying  to  kindle  some  damp  logs,  and 
talking  over  the  day's  disappointment. 

"It  is  a  brilliant  opportunity  lost,"  said  Gustav,  bit- 
terly. "We  had  separated  them  and  thrown  them  into 
confusion ;  but  what  of  that,  when  we  have  left  them 
this  whole  day  to  reassemble  their  scattered  forces  and 
reform  their  broken  battalions?  The  Archduke  Charles 
would  never  have  been  guilty  of  such  an  oversight.  He 
would  have  gone  on  forcing  them  back,  column  upon 
column,  till  soon  they  would  have  been  unable  to  fly 
before  us.  They  would  have  trampled  upon  each  other, 
thrown  down  their  arms,  and  been  all  cut  to  pieces  or 
taken  prisoners." 

"Perhaps  it  is  not  yet  too  late,"  said  I. 

"Not  yet  too  late !"  he  repeated.  "Gott  im  Himmel ! 
Not  too  late,  perhaps,  to  fight  hard  and  get  the  worst 
of  the  fight;  but  too  late  to  destroy  the  whole  French 
army,  as  we  should  have  destroyed  it  this  morning. 
But,  there!  of  what  use  is  it  to  talk?  They  are  all  safe 
now  in  the  woods  of  Hohenlinden." 

"Well,  then,  we  must  rout  them  out  of  the  v/oods  of 
Hohenlinden,  as  we  routed  the  wild  boars  last  winter 
in  Franconia,"  I  said,  smiling. 

But  my  friend  shook  his  head. 

"Look  here,"  he  said,  tearing  a  leaf  from  his  pocket- 
book,  and,  with  a  few  bold  strokes,  sketching  a  rough 
plan  of  the  plateau  and  the  two  rivers.  "The  forest  is 
pierced  by  only  two  great  roads — the  road  from  Munich 
to  Wasserburg,  and  the  road  from  Munich  to  MUhldorf. 
Between  the  roads,  some  running  transversely,  some  in 
parallel  lines,  are  numbers  of  narrow  footways,  known 
only  to  the  peasants,  and  impassable  in  winter.     If  the 


105 


FAMOUS 

TALES 

OF 

BATTLE, 

CAMP 

AND 

SIEGE 

French  have  liad  recourse  to  the  great  thoroughfares, 
they  have  passed  through  ere  this,  and  taken  up  their 
position  on  some  good  ground  beyond;  if  they  have 
tlirown  themselves  into  the  forest  on  either  side,  they 
are  either  taking  refuge  in  thickets  whence  it  will  be 
impossible  to  dislodge  them,  or  they  are  lying  in  wait 
to  fall  upon  our  columns  when  we  attempt  to  march 
through." 

I  was  struck  by  the  clearness  of  his  insight  and  his 
perfect  mastery  of  the  situation. 

"What  a  general  you  will  make  by-and-by,  Lichten- 
stein !"  I  exclaimed. 

"I  shall  never  live  to  be  a  general,  my  dear  fellow," 
he  replied  gloomily.  Have  I  not  told  you  before  now 
that  I  shall  die  young?" 

"Pshaw  ! — a  mere  presentiment !" 

"Ay — a  mere  presentiment ;  but  a  presentiment  of 
which  you  will  some  day  see  the  fulfilment." 

I  shook  my  head  and  smiled  incredulously;  but  Lich- 
tenstein,  stooping  over  the  fire,  and  absorbed  in  his 
own  thoughts,  went  on,  more,  as  it  were,  to  himself 
than  to  me. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "I  shall  die  before  I  have  done  any- 
thing for  which  it  might  be  worth  while  to  have  lived. 
I  am  conscious  of  power — I  feel  there  is  the  making  of 
a  commander  in  me — but  what  chance  have  I  ?  The 
times  are  rich  in  great  soldiers  *  *  *  *  Ah,  if  I 
could  but  once  distinguish  myself — if  I  could  but 
achieve  one  glorious  deed  before  I  die  i  *  *  *  * 
My  uncle  could  help  me  if  he  would.  He  could  so 
easily  appoint  me  to  some  service  of  danger ;  but  he  will 
not — it  is  in  vain  to  ask  him.  There  was  last  year's  expe- 
dition— you  remember  how  I  emplored  him  to  let  me 
lead  an  assaulting  party  at  Manheim.  He  refused 
me.  Von  Ranke  got  it,  and  covered  himself  with  glory! 
Now  if  we  do  have  a  battle  to-morrow"     *    *     *    * 


io6 


A  SERVICE  OF  DANGER. 

"Do  you  really  think  we  shall  have  a  battle  to-mor- 
row?" I  said  eagerly. 

"I  fancy  so;  but  who  can  answer  for  what  the  Arch- 
duke may  do?  Were  we  not  confident  of  fighting  to- 
day?" 

"Yes — but  the  Prince  of  Lichtenstein  was  at  the 
council." 

"My  uncle  tells  me  nothing,"  replied  Gustav,  drily. 

And  then  he  went  to  the  door  of  the  tent  and  looked 
out.  The  snow  was  still  coming  down  in  a  dense,  drift- 
ing cloud,  and,  notwithstanding  the  heavy  rains  of  the 
last  few  days,  was  already  beginning  to  lie  upon  the 
ground. 

"Pleasant  weather  for  a  campaign!"  said  Gustav.  "I 
vote  we  get  a  few  hours'  sleep  while  we  can." 

And  with  this  he  wrapped  himself  up  in  his  cloak 
and  lay  down  before  the  fire.  I  followed  his  example, 
and  in  a  few  moments  we  were  both  fast  asleep. 

Next  day — the  memorable  3d  of  December,  A.  D. 
1800 — was  fought  the  famous  battle  of  Hohenlinden;  a 
day  great  and  glorious  in  the  annals  of  French  military 
history,  yet  not  inglorious  for  those  who  bravely  suf- 
fered defeat  and  disaster. 

I  will  not  attempt  to  describe  the  conflict  in  detail — 
that  has  been  done  by  abler  pens  than  mine.  It  will 
be  enough  if  I  briefly  tell  what  share  we  Lichtensteiners 
bore  in  the  fray.  The  bugles  sounded  to  arms  before 
daylight,  and  by  gray  dawn  the  whole  army  was  in  mo- 
tion. The  snow  was  still  falling  heavily;  but  the  men 
were  in  high  spirits  and  confident  of  victory. 

Divided  into  three  great  columns — the  centre  com- 
manded by  the  Archduke,  the  right  wing  under  Latour, 
and  the  left  under  Riesch — we  plunged  into  the  forest. 
The  infantry  marched  first,  followed  by  the  artillery 
and  caissons,  and  the  cavalry  brought  up  the  rear.  The 
morning,  consequently,  had  far  advanced,  and  our  com- 


107 


FAMOUS  TALES  OF    BATTLE,   CAMP  AND  SIEGE 

rades  in  the  van  had  already  reached  the  farther  ex- 
tremity of  the  forest,  when  we,  with  the  rest  of  the 
cavalry,  crossed,  if  I  may  so  express  it,  the  threshold 
of  those  fatal  woods. 

The  snow  was  now  some  fourteen  inches  deep  upon 
the  ground,  and  still  falling  in  such  thick  flakes  as  made 
it  impossible  to  see  twenty  yards  ahead.  The  gloomy 
pine-trees  closed  round  our  steps  in  every  direction, 
thick-set,  uniform,  endless.  Except  the  broad  chaussee, 
down  which  the  artillery  was  lumbering  slowly  and 
noiselessly,  no  paths  or  side-tracks  were  distinguishable. 
Below,  all  was  white  and  dazzling;  above,  where  the 
wide-spreading  pine  branches  roofed  out  the  leaded  sky, 
all  was  dark  and  oppressive.  Presently  the  Prince  of 
Lichtenstein  rode  up,  and  bade  us  turn  aside  under  the 
trees  on  either  side  of  the  road  till  KoUowrath's  reserves 
had  passed  on.  We  did  so;  dismounted;  lit  our  pipes; 
and  waited  till  our  turn  should  come  to  follow  the  rest. 

Suddenly,  without  a  moment's  warning,  as  if  they 
had  sprung  from  the  earth,  an  immense  body  of  the 
enemy's  foot  poured  in  upon  us  from  the  very  direction 
in  which  our  left  wing,  under  Riesch,  had  lately  passed 
along.  In  an  instant  the  air  was  filled  with  shouts, 
and  smoke,  and  shots,  and  gleaming  sabres — the  snow 
was  red  with  blood — men,  horses,  and  artillery  were 
massed  together  in  inextricable  confusion,  and  hun- 
dreds of  our  brave  fellows  were  cut  down  before  they 
could  even  draw  their  swords  to  strike  a  single  blow. 

"Call  up  the  Bavarian  reserve !"  shouted  the  Prince, 
sitting  his  horse  like  a  statue  and  pointing  up  the  road 
with  his  sword. 

The  next  instant  I  was  rolling  under  my  own  horse's 
feet,  with  a  murderous  grip  upon  my  throat,  a  pistol 
at  my  head,  and  in  my  ears  a  sound  like  the  rushing  of 
a  mighty  sea.  After  this  I  remember  nothing  more, 
till  by-and-by  I  came  to  my  senses,  and  found  myself, 


A  SERVICE  OF   DANGER 

with  some  five  or  six  wounded  cuirassiers,  lying  in  an 
open  cart,  and  being  transported  along  a  country  road 
apparently  skirting  the  forest.  I  thought  at  first  that  I 
also  was  wounded  and  that  we  were  all  prisoners,  and 
so  closed  my  eyes  in  despair. 

But  as  the  tide  of  consciousness  continued  to  flow 
back,  I  discovered  that  we  were  in  the  care  of  our  own 
people,  and  in  the  midst  of  a  long  string  of  ambulances 
bringing  up  the  rear  of  the  Imperial  army.  And  I  also 
found  that,  more  fortunate  than  my  companions,  I  had 
been  stunned  and  badly  bruised,  but  was  otherwise 
unhurt. 

Presently  Gustav  came  riding  up,  and  with  a  cry  of 
joy  exclaimed : 

"How  now,  lieber  Freund !  No  broken  bones  ?  All 
well  and  safe  this  time?" 

"All  well  and  safe,"  I  replied ;  "but  sore  from  head 
to  foot,  and  jolted  almost  to  death.  Where's  my  horse, 
I  wonder?" 

"Dead,  no  doubt;  but  if  you  can  ride,  take  mine,  and 
ril  secure  the  first  I  can  get." 

"Is  the  battle  over?" 

He  shook  his  head. 

"Ay,"  he  said,  gloomily.  "The  battle  is  over — and 
lost." 

Lost ! — utterly  ?" 

'Utterly." 

And  then,  still  riding  beside  the  cart  and  bending 
towards  me  as  he  rode,  he  told,  in  a  few  bitter  sentences, 
all  he  knew  of  the  day's  disaster. 

Moreau,  with  Generals  Grouchy  and  Grandjean,  had, 
it  seemed,  lain  in  wait  with  the  main  body  of  his  army 
at  the  farthest  end  of  the  forest,  where  the  great  Munich 
and  Wasserburg  road  debouches  upon  the  open  plain, 
in  order  to  drive  our  forces  back  as  soon  as  the 
heads  of  the  first  column  should  emerge  on  that  side; 

109 


FAMOUS 

TALES 

OF 

BATTLE, 

CAMP 

AND 

SIEGE. 

while  Ney,  prepared  to  execute  a  similar  maneuver  with 
his  division,  was  stationed  for  the  same  purpose  at  the 
mouth  of  the  other  great  chaussee. 

Richepanse,  meanwhile,  separated  by  an  accident 
from  half  his  brigade,  instead  of  retreating,  advanced 
with  great  intrepidity,  and  fell  upon  us  flank  and  rear, 
as  I  have  said,  when  we  least  expected  danger.  Thus 
it  was  that  the  Imperial  army  was  attacked  and 
driven  back  upon  itself  from  three  points,  and  defeated 
with  great  slaughter. 

"As  for  our  losses."  said  Lichtenstein,  "Heaven  only 
knows  what  they  are!  It  seems  to  me  that  we  have 
scarcely  a  gun  or  a  baggage-wagon  left;  while  our  men, 
herded  together,  trampled,  cut  down  by  thousands — 
Herr  Gott!  I  cannot  bear  to  think  of  it." 

That  night  we  retired  across  the  Inn  and  halted  upon 
the  Tyrolean  side,  making  some  show  of  defence  along 
the  line  of  the  river,  in  the  direction  of  Saltzburg.  Our 
men,  however,  had  none  of  the  spirit  of  resistance  left 
in  them.  They  seemed  as  if  crushed  by  the  magnitude 
of  their  defeat.  Hundreds  deserted  daily.  The  rest 
clamored  impatiently  for  a  retreat.  The  whole  camp 
was  in  dismay  and  disorder. 

Suddenly,  none  could  exactly  tell  how,  a  rumor  went 
about  that  Moreau  was  about  to  attempt  the  passage 
of  the  Lower  Inn. 

This  rumor  soon  became  more  definite. 

The  point  chosen  was  distant  some  three  or  four 
marches  from  that  where  we  were  now  posted. 

All  the  boats  upon  the  Isar  had  been  seized  and  sent 
down  the  river  as  far  as  Munich. 

From  Munich  they  were  about  to  be  transported 
overland  to  the  nearest  point  upon  the  Inn. 

Two  bridges  of  boats  were  then  to  be  thrown  across 
the  river,  and  the  French  battalions  were  to  march  over 
to  our  attack. 


no 


A   SERVICE  OF   DANGER. 

Such  was  the  information  which  the  peasantry 
brought  to  our  camp,  and  which  was  confirmed  by  the 
scouts  whom  we  sent  out  in  every  direction.  The 
enemy's  movements  were  open  and  undisguised.  Con- 
fident of  success  and  secure  in  our  weakness,  he  dis- 
dained even  the  semblance  of  strategy. 

On  the  4th  of  December  the  Archduke  called  another 
council  of  war;  and  some  hours  before  daybreak  on  the 
morning  of  the  sth,  our  whole  right  wing  was  des- 
patched to  the  point  at  which  we  anticipated  an  attack. 

At  dawn,  Gustav,  who  had  been  out  all  night  on  duty, 
came  in  wet  and  weary,  and  found  me  still  asleep. 

"Rouse  up,  dreamer!"  he  said.  "Our  comrades  are 
gone,  and  now  we  can  sing  'De  Profundis'  for  our- 
selves." 

"Why  for  ourselves?"  I  asked,  raising  myself  upon 
my  elbow. 

"Because  Riesch  is  gone;  and,  if  I  am  not  very  much 
mistaken,  we  shall  have  to  fight  the  French  without 
him." 

"What  do  you  mean?  Riesch  is  gone  to  repulse  the 
threatened  attack  down  the  river!" 

"I  mean  that  my  mind  misgives  me  about  that  attack. 
Moreau  is  not  wont  to  show  his  cards  so  plainly.  I 
have  been  thinking  about  it  all  night;  and  the  more  I 
think  of  it,  the  more  I  suspect  that  the  French  have  laid 
a  trap,  and  the  Archduke  has  walked  into  it." 

And  then,  while  we  lit  our  fire  and  breakfasted  to- 
gether off  our  modest  rations  of  black  bread  and  soup, 
my  friend  showed  me,  in  a  few  words,  how  unlikely  it 
was  that  Moreau  should  conduct  any  important  opera- 
tion in  so  ostentatious  a  fashion.  His  object,  argued 
Lichtenstein,  was  either  to  mislead  us  with  false  rumors, 
and  then,  in  the  absence  of  Riesch's  division,  to  pour 
across  the  river  and  attack  us  unexpectedly,  or,  more 
probable  still,  it  was  his  design  to  force  the  passage  of 


FAMOUS  TALES  OF  BATTLE.   CAMP  AND   SIEGE. 

the  Upper  Inn  and  descend  upon  us  from  the  hills  in 
our  rear. 

I  felt  a  sudden  conviction  that  he  was  right. 

"It  is  so — it  must  be  so!"  I  exclaimed.  "What  is  to 
be  done?" 

"Nothing — unless  to  die  hard  when  the  time  comes." 

"Will  you  not  lay  your  suspicions  before  the  Arch- 
duke?" 

"The  Archduke  would  not  thank  me,  perhaps,  for 
seeing  farther  than  himself.  Besides,  suspicions  are 
nothing.  If  I  had  proof — proof  positive  *  *  *  * 
if  my  uncle  would  but  grant  me  a  party  of  reconnois- 
sance    *    *    *     *     gy  Heaven!     I  will  ask  him." 

"Then  ask  him  one  thing  more — get  leave  for  me  to 
go  with  you!" 

At  this  moment  three  or  four  drums  struck  up  the 
rappel — were  answered  by  others — and  again  by  others 
far  and  near,  and  in  a  few  seconds  the  whole  camp  was 
alive  and  stirring.  In  the  meanwhile,  Lichtenstein 
snatched  up  his  cap  and  rushed  away,  eager  to  catch 
the  Prince  before  he  left  his  tent. 

In  about  half  an  hour  he  came  back,  radiant  with 
success.  His  uncle  had  granted  him  a  troop  of  twenty 
men,  with  permission  to  cross  the  Inn  and  reconnoitre 
the  enemy's  movements. 

"But  he  will  not  consent  to  let  thee  join,  mein 
Bruder,"  said  Gustav,  regretfully. 

"Why  not?" 

"Because  it  is  a  service  of  danger,  and  he  will  not 
risk  the  life  of  a  second  officer  when  one  is  enough." 

"Pshaw!  as  if  my  life  were  worth  anything!  But 
there — it's  just  my  luck.  I  might  have  been  certain  he 
would  refuse.     When  do  you  go?" 

"At  midday.  We  are  to  keep  on  this  side  following 
the  road  to  Neubevern  till  we  find  some  point  narrow 
enough  to  swim  our  horses  over.     After  that,  we  shall 


112 


A   SERVICE   OF  DANGER. 

go  round  by  any  unfrequented  ways  and  bridle-paths 
we  can  find;  get  near  the  French  camp  as  soon  as  it  is 
dusk;  and  find  out  all  we  can." 

"I'd  have  given  my  black  mustang  to  be  allowed  to 
go  with  you." 

"I  don't  half  forgive  the  Prince  for  refusing,"  said 
Gustav.  "But  then,  you  see,  not  a  man  of  us  may  come 
back;  and  after  all,  it's  more  satisfactory  to  get  one's 
bullet  on  the  open  battle-field  than  to  be  caught  and 
shot  for  a  spy." 

"I  should  prefer  to  take  my  chance  of  that." 

"I  am  not  quite  sure  that  I  should  prefer  it  for  you," 
said  my  friend.  "I  have  gained  my  point — I  am  glad 
to  go;  but  I  have  an  impression  of  coming  disaster." 

"Ah!  you  know  I  don't  believe  in  presentiments." 

"I  do  know  it,  of  old.  But  the  sons  of  the  house  of 
Lichtenstein  have  reason  to  believe  in  them.  I  could 
tell  you  many  a  strange  story  if  I  had  time.  *  *  *  * 
But  it  is  already  ten,  and  I  must  write  some  letters  and 
put  my  papers  in  order  before  I  start." 

With  this  he  sat  down  to  his  desk,  and  I  went  out, 
in  order  to  leave  him  alone  while  he  wrote.  When  I 
came  back,  his  charger  was  waiting  outside  in  care  of 
an  orderly;  the  troop  had  already  assembled  in  an  open 
space  behind  the  tent;  and  the  men  were  busy  tighten- 
ing their  horses'  girths,  looking  to  the  locks  of  their 
pistols,  and  gaily  preparing  to  be  gone. 

I  found  Lichtenstein  booted  and  spurred  and  ready. 
A  letter  and  a  sealed  packet  lay  upon  the  table,  and 
he  had  just  opened  the  locker  to  take  a  slice  of  bread 
and  a  glass  of  kirschwasser  before  starting. 

"Thank  heaven  you  are  come!"  he  said.  "In  three 
minutes  more  I  should  have  been  gone.  You  see  this 
letter  and  packet?  I  entrust  them  to  you.  The  packet 
contains  my  watch,  which  was  my  father's,  given  to  him 
by  the  Empress  Catherine  of  Russia;  my  hereditary  star 


113 


FAMOUS  TALES   OF   BATTLE,   CAMP  AND   SIEGE. 

and  badge  as  a  Count  of  the  Holy  Roman  Empire;  my 
will;  my  commission;  and  my  signet  ring.  If  I  fall  to- 
day, the  packet  is  to  be  given  to  my  uncle.  The  letter 
is  for  Constance,  bidding  her  farewell.  I  have  enclosed 
in  it  my  mother's  portrait  and  a  piece  of  my  hair.  You 
will  forward  it,  lieber  Freund    *     *     *    *" 

"I  will." 

He  took  a  locket  from  his  bosom,  opened  it,  kissed 
it,  and  gave  it  to  me  with  a  sigh. 

"I  would  not  have  her  portrait  fall  into  rude  and 
sacrilegious  hands,"  he  said;  "if  I  never  come  back, 
destroy  it.  And  now  for  a  parting  glass,  and  good 
bye!" 

We  then  chinked  our  glasses  together,  drank  to  each 
other  in  silence,  clasped  hands,  and  parted. 

Away  they  rode  through  the  heavy  mire  and  beating 
rain,  twenty  picked  men,  two  and  two,  with  their  cap- 
tain at  their  head.  I  watched  them  as  they  trotted 
leisurely  down  the  long  line  of  tents,  and  when  the  last 
man  had  disappeared,  I  went  in  with  a  heavy  heart, 
telling  myself  that  I  should  perhaps  never  see  Gustav 
von  Lichtenstein  again. 

Throughout  the  rest  of  the  day  it  continued  to  rain 
incessantly.  It  was  my  turn  that  night  to  be  on  duty 
for  five  hours;  to  go  the  round  of  the  camp,  and  to  visit 
all  the  outposts.  I  therefore  made  up  the  best  fire  I 
could,  stopped  indoors,  and,  following  my  friend's  ex- 
ample, wrote  letters  all  the  afternoon. 

About  six  in  the  evening  the  rain  ceased,  and  it  began 
to  snow.  It  was  just  the  Hohenlinden  weather  over 
again. 

At  eight,  having  cooked  and  eaten  my  solitary  sup- 
per, I  wrapped  myself  in  my  rug,  lay  down  before  the 
fire,  and  slept  till  midnight,  when  the  orderly  came,  as 
usual,  to  wake  me  and  accompany  me  on  my  rounds. 


114 


A   SERVICE   OF  DANGER. 

"Dreadful  weather,  I  suppose,  Fritz?"  I  said,  getting 
up  unwillingly,  and  preparing  to  face  the  storm. 

"No,  mein  Herr;  it  is  a  beautiful  night." 

I  could  hardly  believe  him. 

But  so  it  was.  The  camp  lay  around  us,  one  sheet 
of  smooth  dazzling  snow;  the  clouds  had  parted,  and 
were  clearing  oflf  rapidly  in  every  direction;  and  just 
over  the  Archduke's  tent  where  the  Imperial  banner 
hung  drooping  and  heavy,  the  full  moon  was  rising  in 
splendor. 

A  magnificent  night — cold,  but  not  piercing — pleasant 
to  ride  in — pleasant  to  smoke  in  as  one  rode.  A  superb 
night  for  trotting  leisurely  round  about  a  peaceful 
camp;  but  a  bad  night  for  a  reconnoitring  party  on 
hostile  ground — a  fatal  night  for  Austrian  white-coats 
in  danger  of  being  seen  by  vigilant  French  sentries. 

Where  now  were  Gustav  and  his  troop?  What  had 
they  done?  What  had  happened  since  they  left?  How 
soon  would  they  come  back?  I  asked  myself  these 
questions  incessantly. 

I  could  think  of  nothing  else.  I  looked  at  my  watch 
every  few  minutes.  As  the  time  wore  on,  the  hours  ap- 
peared to  grow  longer.  At  two  o'clock,  before  I  had 
gone  half  my  round,  it  seemed  to  me  that  I  had  been 
all  night  in  the  saddle.  From  two  to  three,  from  three 
to  four,  the  hours  dragged  by  as  if  every  minute  were 
weighted  with  lead. 

"The  Graf  von  Lichtenstein  will  be  coming  back  this 
way,  mein  Herr,"  said  the  orderly,  spurring  his  horse 
up  beside  mine,  and  saluting  with  his  hand  to  the  side 
of  his  helmet  as  he  spoke. 

"Which  way?     Over  the  hill,  or  down  in  the  hollow?" 

"Through  the  hollow,  mein  Herr.  That  is  the  road 
by  which  the  Herr  Graf  rode  out;  and  the  river  is  too 
wide  for  them  to  cross  anywhere  but  up-stream." 

"Then  they  must  come  this  way?" 


IIS 


FAMOUS  TALES  OF   BATTLE,   CAMP  AND   SIEGE. 

"Yes,  mcin  Herr." 

We  were  riding  along  the  ridge  of  a  long  hill,  one 
side  of  which  sloped  down  towards  the  river,  while  on 
the  other  side  it  terminated  in  an  abrupt  precipice  over- 
hanging a  narrow  road  or  ravine,  some  forty  feet  below. 
The  opposite  bank  was  also  steep,  though  less  steep 
than  that  on  our  side;  and  beyond  it  the  eye  travelled 
over  a  wide  expanse  of  dusky  pine-woods,  now  white 
and  heavy  with  snow. 

I  reined  in  my  horse  the  better  to  observe  the  scene. 
Yonder  flowed  the  Inn,  dark  and  silent,  a  river  of  ink 
winding  through  meadow  flats  of  dazzling  silver.  Far 
away  upon  the  horizon  rose  the  mystic  outlines  of  the 
Franconian  Alps.  A  single  sentry,  pacing  to  and  fro 
some  four  hundred  yards  ahead,  was  distinctly  visible  in 
the  moonlight;  and  such  was  the  perfect  stillness  of  the 
night  that,  although  the  camp  lay  at  least  two  miles  and 
a  half  away,  I  could  hear  the  neighing  of  the  horses 
and  the  barking  of  the  dogs. 

Again  I  looked  at  my  watch,  again  calculated  how 
long  my  friend  had  been  absent.  It  was  now  a  quarter 
past  four  A.  M.,  and  he  had  left  the  camp  at  midday. 

If  he  had  not  yet  returned — and  of  course  he  might 
have  done  so  at  any  moment  since  I  had  been  out  on 
duty — he  had  now  been  gone  sixteen  hours  and  a 
quarter. 

Sixteen  hours  and  a  quarter!  Time  enough  to  have 
ridden  to  Munich  and  back! 

The  orderly  again  brought  his  horse  up  abreast  with 
mine. 

"Pardon,  mein  Herr,"  he  said,  pointing  up  the  ravine 
with  his  sabre;  "but  do  you  see  nothing  yonder — beyond 
the  turn  of  the  road — just  where  there  is  a  gap  in  the 
trees?" 

I  looked;  but  I  saw  nothing. 

"What  do  you  think  you  see?"  I  asked  him. 

Ii6 


A  SERVICE  OF   DANGER. 

"I  scarcely  know,  mein  Herr — something  moving 
close  against  the  trees,  beyond  the  hollow  way." 

"Where  the  road  emerges  upon  the  plain  and  skirts 
the  pine-woods?" 

"Yes,  mein  Herr;  several  dark  objects — Ah!  they  are 
horsemen!" 

"It  is  the  Graf  von  Lichtenstein  and  his  troop!"  I 
exclaimed. 

"Nay,  mein  Herr;  see  how  slowly  they  ride,  and  how 
they  keep  close  under  the  shade  of  the  woods!  The 
Graf  von  Lichtenstein  would  not  steal  back  so  quietly." 

I  stood  up  in  my  stirrups,  shaded  my  eyes  with  my 
hand,  and  stared  eagerly  at  the  approaching  cavalcade. 

They  were  perhaps  half  a  mile  away  as  the  crow  flies, 
and  would  not  have  been  visible  from  this  point  but  for 
a  long  gap  in  the  trees  on  this  side  of  the  hill.  I  could 
see  that  they  were  soldiers.  They  might  be  French; 
but,  somehow,  I  did  not  think  they  were.  I  fancied,  I 
hoped,  they  were  our  own  Lichtensteiners  come  back 
again. 

"They  are  making  for  the  hollow  way,  mein  Herr," 
said  the  orderly. 

They  were  evidently  making  for  the  hollow  way.  I 
watched  them  past  the  gap  till  the  last  man  had  gone 
by,  and  it  seeemed  to  me  they  were  about  twenty  in 
number. 

I  dismounted,  flung  my  reins  to  the  orderly,  and  went 
to  where  the  edge  of  the  precipice  overhung  the  road 
below.  Hence,  by  means  of  such  bushes  and  tree- 
stumps  as  were  rooted  in  the  bank,  I  clambered  down  a 
few  feet  lower,  and  there  lay  concealed  till  they  should 
pass  through. 

It  now  seemed  to  me  that  they  would  never  come.  I 
do  not  know  how  long  I  waited.  It  might  have  been 
ten  minutes — it  might  have  been  half  an  hour;  but  the 
time   that   elapsed   between   the   moment   when   I    dis- 


"7 


FAMOUS  TALES  OF   BATTLE,   CAMP  AND   SIEGE. 

mounted  and  the  moment  when  the  first  helmet  came 
in  sight  seemed  interminable. 

The  road,  as  I  have  already  said,  lay  between  a  steep 
declivity  on  the  one  side  and  a  less  abrupt  height  cover- 
ed with  pine-trees,  on  the  other — a  picturesque  winding 
gorge  or  ravine,  half  dark  as  night,  half  bright  as  day; 
here  deep  in  shadow,  there  flooded  with  moonlight;  and 
carpeted  a  foot  deep  with  fresh  fallen  snow.  After  I 
had  waited  and  watched  till  my  eyes  ached  with  staring 
in  the  gloom,  I  at  last  saw  a  single  horseman  coming 
round  the  turn  of  the  road,  about  a  hundred  yards  from 
the  spot  where  I  was  lying.  Slowly,  and  as  it  seemed 
to  me,  dejectedly,  he  rode  in  advance  of  his  comrades. 
The  rest  followed,  two  and  two. 

At  the  first  glance,  while  they  were  yet  in  deep 
shadow,  and,  as  I  have  said,  a  hundred  yards  distant,  I 
recognized  the  white  cloaks  and  plumes  and  the  black 
chargers  of  my  own  corps.  I  knew  at  once  that  it  was 
Lichtenstein  and  his  troop. 

Then  a  sudden  terror  fell  upon  me.  Why  were  they 
coming  back  so  slowly?  What  evil  tidings  did  they 
bring?  How  many  were  returning?  How  many  were 
missing?  I  knew  well,  if  there  had  been  a  skirmish, 
who  was  sure  to  have  been  foremost  in  the  fight.  I 
knew  well,  if  but  three  or  four  had  fallen,  who  was  sure 
to  be  one  of  the  fallen. 

These  thoughts  flashed  upon  me  in  the  first  instant 
when  I  recognized  the  Lichtenstein  uniform.  I  could 
not  have  uttered  a  word,  or  have  done  anything  to  at- 
tract the  men's  attention,  if  it  had  been  to  save  my  life. 
Dread  paralyzed  me. 

Slowly,  dejectedly,  noiselessly,  the  first  cuirassier 
emerged  into  the  moonlight,  passed  on  again  into  the 
gloom,  and  vanished  in  the  next  turn  of  the  road.  It 
was  but  for  a  moment  that  the  moonlight  streamed  full 


ii8 


A  SERVICE   OF   DANGER. 

upon  him;  yet  in  that  moment  I  saw  there  had  been  a 
fray,  and  that  the  man  had  been  badly  wounded. 

As  slowly,  as  dejectedly,  as  noiselessly,  with  broken 
plumes  and  battered  helmets,  and  cloaks  torn  and 
blood-stained,  the  rest  came  after,  two  and  two;  each 
pair,  as  they  passed,  shining  out  momentarily,  distinctly, 
like  the  images  projected  for  an  instant  upon  the  disc 
of  a  magic-lantern. 

I  held  my  breath  and  counted  them  as  they  went  by — 
first  one  alone;  then  two  and  two,  till  I  had  counted 
eighteen  riding  in  pairs.  Then  one  alone,  bringing  up 
the  rear.     Then     *     *     *     * 

I  waited — I  watched — I  refused  to  believe  that  this 
could  be  all.  I  refused  to  believe  that  Gustav  must 
not  presently  come  galloping  up  to  overtake  them.  At 
last,  long  after  I  knew  it  was  in  vain  to  wait  and  watch 
longer,  I  clambered  up  again — cramped,  and  cold,  and 
sick  at  heart — and  found  the  orderly  walking  the  horses 
up  and  down  on  the  brow  of  the  hill.  The  man  looked 
me  in  the  face,  as  if  he  would  fain  have  asked  me  what 
I  had  seen. 

"It  was  the  Graf  von  Lichtenstein's  troop,"  I  said, 
by  an  efTort;  "but — but  the  Graf  von  Lichtenstein  is 
not  with  them." 

And  with  this  I  sprang  into  the  saddle,  clapped  spurs 
to  my  horse,  and  said  no  more. 

I  had  still  two  outposts  to  visit  before  finishing  my 
round;  but  from  that  moment  to  this  I  have  never  been 
able  to  remember  any  one  incident  of  my  homeward 
ride.  I  visited  those  outposts,  without  doubt;  but  I  was 
as  unconscious  of  the  performance  of  my  duty  as  a 
sleeper  is  unconscious  of  the  act  of  breathing. 

Gustav  was  the  only  man  missing.  Gustav  was  dead. 
I  repeated  it  to  myself  over  and  over  again.  I  felt  that 
it  was  true.     I  had  no  hope  that  he  was  taken  prisoner. 


119 


FAMOUS  TALES  OF  BATTLE,   CAMP  AND   SIEGE. 

No— he  was  dead.  He  had  fallen,  fighting  to  the  last. 
He  had  died  like  a  hero.     But— he  was  dead. 

At  a  few  minutes  after  five,  I  returned  to  the  camp. 
The  first  person  I  met  was  von  Blumenthal,  the  Prince 
of  Lichtenstein's  secretary.  He  was  walking  up  and 
down  outside  my  tent,  waiting  for  me.  He  ran  to  me 
as  I  dismounted. 

"Thank  heaven,  you  are  come!"  he  said.  "Go  at 
once  to  the  prince — the  Graf  von  Lichtenstein  is  dying. 
He  has  fought  a  troop  of  French  lancers  three  times  as 
many  as  his  own,  and  carried  off  a  bundle  of  despatches. 
But  he  has  paid  for  them  with  his  life,  and  with  the 
lives  of  all  his  men.  He  rode  in,  covered  with  wounds, 
a  couple  of  hours  ago,  and  had  just  breath  enough  left 
to  tell  the  tale." 

"His  own  life,  and  the  lives  of  all  his  men!"  I  re- 
peated hoarsely. 

"Yes,  he  left  every  man  on  the  field — himself  the  only 
survivor.  He  cut  his  way  out  with  the  captured  des- 
patches in  one  hand  and  his  sword  in  the  other — and 
there  he  lies  in  the  Prince's  tent,  dying." 

He  was  unconscious — had  been  unconscious  ever 
since  he  was  laid  upon  his  uncle's  bed — and  he  died 
without  again  opening  his  eyes  or  uttering  a  word.  I 
saw  him  breathe  his  last,  and  that  was  all.  Even  now, 
old  man  as  I  am,  I  cannot  dwell  upon  that  scene.  He 
was  my  first  friend,  and  I  may  say,  my  best  friend.  I 
have  known  other  friendships  since  then;  but  none  so 
intimate — none   so  precious. 

But  now  comes  a  question  which  I  yet  ask  myself 
"many  a  time  and  oft,"  and  which,  throughout  all  the 
years  that  have  gone  by  since  that  night,  I  have  never 
yet  been  able  to  answer.  Gustav  von  Lichtenstein  met 
and  fought  a  troop  of  French  Lancers;  saw  his  own 
twenty  cuirassiers  cut  to  pieces  before  his  eyes;  left 


120 


A  SERVICE  OF  DANGER. 

them  all  for  dead  upon  a  certain  hillside  on  the  oppo- 
site bank  of  the  Inn;  and  rode  back  into  camp,  covered 
with  wounds — the  only  survivor! 

What,  then,  was  that  silent  cavalcade  that  I  saw  rid- 
ing through  the  hollow  way — twenty  men  without  their 
leader?  Were  those  the  dead  whom  I  met,  and  was  it 
the  one  living  man  who  was  absent? 


I2t 


IVRY 


IVRY 

Lord  Macau  lay 


now  glory  to  the   Lord  of  Hosts,  from   whom  all 
glories   are! 
And   glory   in   our   Sovereign    Liege,    King    Henry   of 

Navarre! 
Now   let  there  be   the  merry   sound   of  music   and   of 

dance, 
Through   thy   corn-fields    green,    and    sunny    vines,    O 

pleasant  land  of   France. 
And  thou  Rochelle,  our  own  Rochelle,  proud  city  of 

the  waters, 
Again  let  rapture  light  the   eyes  of  all  thy   mourning 

daughters. 
As  thou  wert  constant  in  our  ills,  be  joyous  in  our 

joy, 
For  cold,  and  stifT,  and  still  are  they  who  wrought  thy 

walls  annoy. 
Hurrah!      Hurrah!     a    single    field    hath    turned    the 

chance  of  war. 
Hurrah!     Hurrah!     for  Ivry,  and  Henry  of  Navarre. 

Oh!    how  our  hearts  were  beating,  when,  at  the  dawn 

of  day, 
We  saw  the  army  of  the  League  drawn  out  in  long 

array; 


125 


FAMOUS  TALES  OF   BATTLE,   CAMP  AND   SIEGE. 

With  all  ifs  priest-led  citizens,  and  all   its  rebel  peerSj 
And  Appenzel's  stout  infantry,  and  Egmont's  Flemish 

spears. 
There  rode  the  brood  of  false  Lorraine,  the  curses  of 

our  land; 
And  dark  Mayenne  was  in  their  midst,  a  truncheon  in 

his  hand; 
And,  as  we  looked  on  them,   we   thought   of   Seine's 

empurpled  flood, 
And   good   Coligni's   hoary   hair   all   dabbled   with   his 

blood; 
And  we  cried  unto  the  living  God,  who  rules  the  fate 

of  war, 
To  fight  for  his  own  holy  name,  and  Henry  of  Navarre. 

The  King  is  come  to  marshall  us,  in  all  his  armor 
drest. 

And  he  has  bound  a  snow-white  plume  upon  his  gal- 
lant crest. 

He  looked  upon  his  people,  and  a  tear  was  in  his  eye; 

He  looked  upon  the  traitors,  and  his  glance  was  stern 
and  high. 

Right  graciously  he  smiled  on  us,  as  rolled  from  wing 
to  wing, 

Down  all  our  line,  a  deafening  shout,  "God  save  our 
Lord,  the  King." 

"And  if  my  standard-bearer  fall,  as  fall  full  well  he  may, 

For  never  saw  I  promise  yet  of  such  a  bloody  fray, 

Press  where  ye  see  my  white  plume  shine,  amidst  the 
ranks  of  war, 

And  be  your  oriflamme  to-day  the  helmet  of  Navarre." 

Hurrah!    the  foes  are  moving.     Hark  to  the  mingled 

din 
Of  fife,  and  steel,  and  trump,  and  drum,  and  roaring 

culverin. 


126 


IVRY. 

The  fiery  Duke  is  pricking  fast  across  Saint  Andre's 

plain, 
With  all  the  hireling  chivalry  of  Guelders  and  Almaync. 
"Now  by  the  lips  of  those  ye  love,  fair  gentlemen  of 

France, 
Charge    for    the    golden    lilies, — upon    them    with    the 

lance." 
A  thousand  spurs  are  striking  deep,  a  thousand  spears 

in  rest, 
A  thousand  knights  are  pressing  close  behind  the  snow- 
white  crest; 
And  in  they  burst,  and  on  they  rushed,  while,  like  a 

guiding   star, 
Amidst    the    thickest    carnage    blazed    the    helmet    of 

Navarre. 

Now,  God  be  praised,  the  day  is  ours.     Mayenne  hath 

turned  his  rein. 
D'Aumale  hath  cried  for  quarter.     The  Flemish  count 

is  slain. 
Their   ranks    are    breaking    like    thin    clouds    before    a 

Biscay  gale; 
The  field  is  heaped  with  bleeding  steeds,  and  flags,  and 

cloven    mail, 
And  then  we  thought  on  vengeance,  and  all  along  our 

van, 
"Remember    Saint    Bartholomew,"    was    passed    from 

man  to  man. 
But   out  spoke   gentle   Henry,   "No   Frenchman   is   my 

foe: 
Down,  down  with  every  foreigner,  but  let  your  breth- 
ren  go." 
Oh!   was   there   ever   such   a   knight,    in    friendship   or 

in  war. 
As  our  Sovereign  Lord,  King  Henry,  the  soldier  of 

Navarre? 


127 


FAMOUS  TALES   OF  BATTLE,   CAMP  AND   SIEGE. 

Right  well  fought  all  the  Frenchmen  who  fought  for 

France   to-day; 
And  many  a  lordly  banner  God  gave  them  for  a  prey; 
But  we  of  the  religion  have  borne  us  best  in  fight; 
And  the  good  Lord  of  Rosny  hath  ta'en  the  cornet 

white. 
Our  own  true  Maximilian,  the  cornet  white  hath  ta'en, 
The  cornet  white  with  crosses  black,  the  flag  of  false 

Lorraine. 
Up  with  it  high;    unfurl  it  wide;    that  all  the  host  may 

know 
How    God    hath    humbled    the    proud    house    which 

wrought  his  church  such  woe; 
Then  on  the  ground,  while  trumpets  sound  their  loud- 
est point  of  war. 
Fling  the  red  shreds,  a  foot-cloth  meet  for  Henry  of 

Navarre. 

Ho!    maidens  of  Vienna;    Ho!    matrons  of  Lucerne; 
Weep,  weep,  and  rend  your  hair  for  those  who  never 

shall  return. 
Ho!  Philip,  send,  for  charity,  thy  Mexican  pistoles. 
That  Antwerp   monks  may  sing  a  mass  for  thy  poor 

spearmen's  souls. 
Ho!    gallant  nobles  of  the  League,  look  that  your  arms 

be  bright; 
Ho!  burghers  of  Saint  Genevieve,  keep  watch  and  ward 

to-night, 
For  our  God  hath  crushed  the  tyrant,  our  God  hath 

raised  the  slave. 
And  mocked  the   council   of  the   wise   and   the   valor 

of  the  brave. 
Then  glory  to  his  holy  name,  from  whom  all  glories 

are. 
And   glory  to   our   Sovereign   Lord,    King    Henry   of 

Navarre. 


128 


IN  THE  LAND  OF  THE  MASAI 


biBSS^H  i9bi^    ^-f  ^^  +;fr.ti.,q 


IN  THE  LAND  OF  THE  MASAI 

Being   an   Account   of    Certain  Adventures  of  Allan 

quaterflvain,  in  company  with  sir  henry  curtis, 

Bart.,  Commander  John  Good,  R.N.,  and 

One  Umslopogaas 

H.  Rider  Haggard:  From  '■^ Allan  Qtiatcrtnain'''' 


I     UMSLOPOGAAS 

4<77|ELL,   where   are   you   gentlemen   steering   for?" 

^V  asked  our  friend,  the  hospitable  Consul,  as  we 
smoked  our  pipes  after  dinner. 

"We  propose  to  go  to  Mt.  Kenia  and  then  on  to 
Mt.  Lekakisera,"  answered  Sir  Henry.  "Quatermain 
has  got  hold  of  some  yarn  about  there  being  a  white 
race  up  in  the  unknown  territories  beyond." 

The  Consul  looked  interested,  and  answered  that 
he  had  heard  something  of  that,  too. 

"What  have  you  heard?"   I  asked. 

"Oh,  not  much.  All  I  know  about  it  is  that  about  a 
year  or  so  ago  I  got  a  letter  from  Mackenzie,  the 
Scotch,  missionary,  whose  station,  'The  Highlands,'  is 
placed  at  the  highest  navigable  point  of  the  Tana  river, 
in  which  he  said  something  about  it." 

"Have  you  the  letter?"  I  asked. 

"No;  I  destroyed  it;  but  I  remember  that  he  said 
that  a  man  had  arrived  at  his  station  who  declared  that 


131 


FAMOUS  TALES   OF   BATTLE,   CAMP  AND   SIEGE 

two  months'  journey  beyond  Mt.  Lekakisera,  which 
no  white  man  has  yet  visited — at  least,  so  far  as  I 
know — he  found  a  lake  called  Laga,  and  that  then  he 
went  ofT  to  the  northeast,  a  month's  journey,  over 
desert  and  thorn  veldt  and  great  mountains,  till  he 
came  to  a  country  where  the  people  are  white  and  live 
in  stone  houses.  Here  he  was  hospitably  entertained 
for  awhile,  till  at  last  the  priests  of  the  country  set 
it  about  that  he  was  a  devil,  and  the  people  drove  him 
away,  and  he  journeyed  for  eight  months  and  reached 
Mackenzie's  place,  as  I  heard,  dying.  That's  all  I 
know;  and,  if  you  ask  me,  I  believe  that  it  is  a  lie; 
but  if  you  want  to  find  out  more  about  it,  you  had 
better  go  up  the  Tana  to  Mackenzie's  place  and  ask 
him   for  information." 

Sir  Henry  and  I  looked  at  each  other.  Here  was 
something  tangible. 

"I  think  we  will  go  to  Mr.  Mackenzie's,"  I  said. 

"Well,"  answered  the  Consul,  "that  is  your  best  way, 
but  I  warn  you  that  you  are  likely  to  have  a  rough 
journey,  for  I  hear  that  the  Masai  are  about,  and, 
as  you  know,  they  are  not  pleasant  customers.  Your 
best  plan  will  be  to  choose  a  few  picked  men  for  per- 
sonal servants  and  hunters,  and  to  hire  bearers  from 
village  to  village.  It  will  give  you  an  infinity  of 
trouble,  but  perhaps  on  the  whole  it  will  prove  a 
cheaper  and  more  advantageous  course  than  engaging 
a  caravan,  and  you  will  be  less  liable  to  desertion." 

Fortunately  there  were  at  Lamu  at  this  time  a  party 
of  Wakwafi  Askari  (soldiers).  The  Wakwafi,  who  were 
a  cross  between  the  Masai  and  the  Wataveta,  are  a 
fine,  manly  race,  possessing  many  of  the  good  qualities 
of  the  Zulu,  and  a  greater  capacity  for  civilization. 
They  are  also  great  hunters. 

Our  friend,  the  Consul,  suggested  to  us  that  we  had 
better  try  and  hire  these  men,  and  accordingly  on  the 


132 


IN    THE    LAND    OF   THE    MASAI. 

following  morning  we  started  to  interview  the  party, 
accompanied  by  an  interpreter. 

In  due  course  we  found  them  in  a  mud  hut  on  the 
outskirts  of  the  town.  Three  of  the  men  were  sitting 
outside  the  hut,  and  fine,  frank-looking  fellows  they 
were,  having  a  more  or  less  civilized  appearance.  To 
them  we  cautiously  opened  the  object  of  our  visit,  at 
first  with  very  scant  success.  They  declared  that  they 
could  not  entertain  any  such  idea,  that  they  were  worn 
and  weary  with  long  traveling,  and  that  their  hearts 
were  sore  at  the  loss  of  their  master.  They  meant  to 
go  back  to  their  homes  and  rest  awhile.  This  did  not 
sound  very  promising,  so  by  way  of  effecting  a  diver- 
sion I  asked  where  the  remainder  of  them  were.  I  was 
told  there  were  six,  and  I  saw  but  three.  One  of  the 
men  said  that  they  slept  in  the  hut,  and  were  yet  rest- 
ing after  their  labors — "Sleep  weighed  down  their  eye- 
lids, and  sorrow  made  their  hearts  as  lead;  it  was  best 
to  sleep,  for  with  sleep  came  forgetfulness.  But  the 
men  should  be  awakened." 

•  Presently  they  came  out  of  the  hut,  yawning — tlie 
first  two  men  being  evidently  of  the  same  race  and 
style  as  those  already  before  us;  but  the  appearance 
of  the  third  and  last  nearly  made  me  jump  out  of  my 
skin.  He  was  a  very  tall,  broad  man,  quite  six  foot 
three,  I  should  say,  but  gaunt,  with  lean,  wiry-looking 
limbs.  My  first  glance  at  him  told  me  that  he  was  no 
Wakwafi:  he  was  a  pure-bred  Zulu.  He  came  out  with 
his  thin,  aristocratic-looking  hand  placed  before  his 
face  to  hide  a  yawn,  so  I  could  only  see  he  was  a 
"Keshla,"    or   ringed   man,*   and   that   he   had   a   great 

•  Among  the  Zulus  a  man  assumes  the  ring,  which  is  made  of  a  spe- 
cies of  black  gum  twisted  in  with  hair,  and  polished  a  brilliant  black, 
when  he  has  reached  a  certain  dignity  and  age,  or  is  the  husband  of  a 
sufficient  number  of  wives.  Till  he  is  in  a  position  to  wear  a  ring  he 
is  looked  on  as  a  boy,  though  he  may  be  thirty-five  years  of  age,  or 
even  more.  —  A.  Q. 

133 


FAMOUS  TALES   OF  BATTLE,   CAMP  AND   SIEGE. 

three-cornered  hole  in  his  forehead.  In  another  sec- 
ond he  removed  his  hand,  revealing  a  powerful-looking 
Zulu  face,  with  a  humorous  mouth,  a  short,  woolly 
beard,  tinged  with  gray,  and  a  pair  of  brown  eyes 
keen  as  a  hawk's.  I  knew  my  man  at  once,  although 
I  had  not  seen  him  for  twelve  years.  "How  do  you  do, 
Umslopogaas?"  I  said,  quietly,  in  Zulu. 

The  tall  man  (who  among  his  own  people  was  com- 
monly known  as  the  "Woodpecker,"  and  also  as  the 
"Slaughterer")  started  and  almost  let  the  long-handled 
battle-axe  he  held  in  his  hand  fall  in  his  astonish- 
ment. Next  second  he  had  recognized  me,  and  was 
saluting  me  in  an  outburst  of  sonorous  language  which 
inade  his  companions,  the  Wakwafi,  stare. 

"Koos"  (chief),  he  began,  "Koos-y-Pagate!  Koos- 
y-umcool!  (Chief  from  of  old — mighty  chief)  Koos! 
Baba!  (father)  Macumazahn,  old  hunter,  slayer  of  ele- 
phants, eater  up  of  lions,  clever  one!  watchful  one! 
brave  one!  quick  one!  whose  shot  never  misses,  who 
strikes  straight  home,  who  grasps  a  hand  and  holds 
it  to  the  death  (i.  e.,  is  a  true  friend).  Koos!  Babar! 
Wise  isthevoice  of  our  peoplethat  says, 'Mountain  never 
meets  with  mountain,  but  at  daybreak  or  at  even  man 
shall  meet  again  with  man.'  Behold!  a  messenger  came 
up  from  Natal,  'Macumazahn  is  dead!'  cried  he.  'The 
land  knows  Macumazahn  no  more.'  That  is  years  ago. 
And  now,  behold,  now  in  this  strange  place  of  stinks 
I  find  Macumazahn,  my  friend.  There  is  no  room  for 
doubt.  The  brush  of  the  old  jackal  has  gone  a  little 
gray;  but  is  not  his  eye  as  keen,  and  his  teeth  as  sharp? 
Ha!  ha!  Macumazahn,  mindest  thou  how  thou  didst 
plant  the  ball  in  the  eye  of  the  charging  buffalo — 
mindest  thou " 

I  had  let  him  run  on  thus  because  I  saw  that  his 
enthusiasm  was  producing  a  marked  effect  upon  the 
minds   of  the   five   Wakwafi,   who   appeared   to   under- 


134 


IN    THE    LAND    OF   THE    MASAI. 

stand  something  of  his  talk;  but  now  I  thought  it  time  to 
put  a  stop  to  it,  for  there  is  nothing  that  I  hate  so  much 
as  this  Zulu  system  of  extravagant  praising — 'bonger- 
ing,"  as  they  call  it.  "Silence!"  I  said.  "Has  all  thy 
noisy  talk  been  stopped  up  since  last  I  saw  thee,  that 
it  breaks  out  thus,  and  sweeps  us  away?  Behold,  Um- 
slopogaas,  I  know  thee  for  a  great  warrior  and  a  brave 
man,  faithful  to  the  death.  Even  in  Zululand,  where 
all  the  men  are  brave,  they  called  thee  the  'Slaughter- 
er,'' and  at  night  told  stories  round  the  fire  of  thy 
strength  and  deeds.  Hear  me  now.  Thou  seest  this 
great  man,  my  friend" — and  I  pointed  to  Sir  Henry; 
"he  also  is  a  warrior  as  great  as  thou,  and,  strong  as 
thou  art,  he  could  throw  thee  over  his  shoulder.  In- 
cubu  is  his  name.  And  thou  seest  this  one  also;  him 
with  the  round  stomach,  the  shining  eye  and  the  pleas- 
ant face.  Bougwan  (glass  eye)  is  his  name,  and  a 
good  man  is  he  and  true,  being  of  a  curious  tribe  who 
pass  their  life  upon  the  water,  and  live  in  floating 
kraals. 

"Well,  we  three  whom  thou  seest  would  travel  in- 
land, past  Dongo  Egere,  the  great  white  mountain 
(Mt.  Kenia),  and  far  into  the  unknown  beyond.  We 
know  not  what  we  shall  find  there;  we  go  to  hunt  and 
seek  adventures,  and  new  places,  being  tired  of  sitting 
still,  with  the  same  old  things  around  us.  Wilt  thou 
come  with  us?  To  thee  shall  be  given  command  of 
all  our  servants;  but  what  shall  befall  thee,  that  I  know 
not.  Once  before  we  three  journeyed  thus,  and  we  took 
with  us  a  man  such  as  thou — one  Umbopa;  and,  behold, 
we  left  him  the  king  of  a  great  country,  with  twenty 
Impas  (regiments),  each  of  3,000  plumed  warriors, 
waiting  on  his  word.  How  it  shall  go  with  thee  I 
know  not;  mayhap  death  awaits  thee  and  us.  ■  Wilt 
thou  throw  thyself  to  Fortune  and  come,  or  fcarest 
thou,   Umslopogaas?" 


135 


FAMOUS  TALES  OF   BATTLE,   CAMP  AND   SIEGE. 

The  great  man  smiled.  "So  we  are  going  to  see 
something  of  the  old  times  again,  Macumazahn,  wheq 
we  fought  and  hunted  in  Zuluiand?  Ay,  I  will  come. 
Come  life,  come  death,  what  care  I,  so  that  the  blows 
fall  fast  and  the  blood  runs  red?  I  grow  old,  I  grow 
old,  and  I  have  not  fought  enough!  And  yet  am  I  a 
warrior  among  warriors;  see  my  scars" — and  he  pointed 
to  countless  cicatrices,  stabs  and  cuts,  that  marked  the 
skin  of  his  chest  and  legs  and  arms.  "See  the  hole 
in  my  head;  the  brains  gushed  out  therefrom,  yet  did 
I  slay  him  who  smote,  and  live.  Knowest  thou 
how  many  men  I  have  slain,  in  fair  hand-to- 
hand  combat,  Macumazahn?  See,  here  is  the 
tale  of  them" — and  he  pointed  to  long  rows  of 
notches  cut  in  the  rhinoceros-horn  handle  of  his  axe. 
"Number  them,  Macumazahn — one  hundred  and  three 
— and  I  have  never  counted  but  those  whom  I  have 
ripped  open,  nor  have  I  reckoned  those  whom  another 
man  had  struck." 

"Be  silent,"  I  said,  for  I  saw  that  he  was  getting 
the  blood  fever  on  him;  "be  silent;  well  art  thou 
called  the  'Slaughterer.'  We  would  not  hear  of  thy 
deeds  of  blood.  Remember,  if  thou  comest  with  us, 
we  fight  not  save  in  self-defence.  Listen,  we  need 
servants.  These  men,"  and  I  pointed  to  the  Wakwafi, 
who  had  retired  a  little  way  during  our  "indaba"  (talk), 
"say  they  will  not  come." 

"Will  not  come?"  shouted  Umslopogaas;  "Where  is 
the  dog  who  says  he  will  not  come  when  my  Father 
orders?  Here,  thou" — and  with  a  single  bound  he 
sprang  upon  the  Wakwafi  with  whom  I  had  first 
spoken,  and,  seizing  him  by  the  arm,  dragged  him  to- 
ward us.  "Thou  dog!"  he  said,  giving  the  terrified 
man  a  shake,  "didst  thou  say  thou  wouldst  not  go 
with  my  Father?  Say  it  once  more  and  I  will  choke  thee" 
— and  his  long  fingers  closed  around  his  throat  as  he 

136 


IN   THE   LAND    OF   THE    MASAI. 

said  it — "thee,  and  those  with  thee.  Hast  thou  forgot- 
ten how  I  served  thy  brother?" 

"Nay,  we  will  come  with  the  white  man,"  gasped 
the  man. 

"White  man!"  went  on  Umslopogaas,  in  simulated 
fury,  which  a  very  little  provocation  would  have  made 
real  enough;  "of  whom  speakest  thou,  insolent  dog?" 

"Nay,  we  will  go  with  the  great  chief." 

"So,"  said  Umslopogaas,  in  a  quiet  voice,  as  he  sud- 
denly released  his  hold,  so  that  the  man  fell  backward. 
"I  thought  you  would." 

"That  man  Umslopogaas  seems  to  have  a  curious 
moral  ascendency  over  his  companions,"  Good  after- 
wards remarked  thoughtfully. 


II      THE   MASAI 

In  due  course  we  left  Lamu,  and  ten  days  afterwards 
we  found  ourselves  at  a  spot  called  Charra,  on  the 
Tana  River. 

Three  days  after  our  start  an  ominous  incident  oc- 
curred. We  were  just  drawing  in  to  the  bank  to 
make  our  camp  as  usual  for  the  night,  when  we  caught 
sight  of  a  figure  standing  on  a  little  knoll  not  forty 
yards  away,  and  intently  watching  our  approach.  One 
glance  was  sufficient — although  I  was  personally  un- 
acquainted with  the  tribe — to  tell  me  that  he  was  a 
Masai  Elmoran,  or  young  warrior.  Indeed,  had  I  had 
any  doubts,  they  would  have  quickly  been  dispelled  by 
the  terrified  ejaculation  of  "Masai!"  that  burst  simul- 
taneously from  the  lips  of  our  Wakwafi  followers,  who 
are,  as  I  think  I  said,  themselves  bastard  Masai. 

And  what  a  figure  he  presented  as  he  stood  there  in 
his  savage  war-gear!  Accustomed  as  I  have  been  to 
savages  all  my  life,  I  do  not  think  that  I  have  ever 


137 


TAMOUS  TALES   OF   BATTLE,    CAMP   AND   SIEGE. 

before  seen  anything  quite  so  ferocious  or  awe-in- 
spiring. To  begin  with,  the  man  was  enormously  tall, 
quite  as  tall  as  Umslopogaas,  I  should  say,  and  beau- 
tifully, though  somewhat  slightly,  shaped,  but  with  the 
face  of  a  devil.  In  his  right  hand  he  held  a  spear  about 
five  and  a  half  feet  long,  the  blade  being  two  and  a 
half  feet  in  length,  by  nearly  three  inches  in  width,  and 
having  an  iron  spike  at  the  end  of  the  handle  that 
measured  more  than  a  foot.  On  his  left  arm  was  a 
large  and  well-made  elliptical  shield  of  buiYalo  hide,  on 
which  were  painted  strange,  heraldic-looking  devices. 
On  his  shoulders  was  a  huge  cape  of  hawk's  feathers, 
and  round  his  neck  was  a  "naibere,"  or  strip  of  cotton 
about  seventeen  feet  long,  by  one  and  a  half  broad, 
with  a  stripe  of  color  running  down  the  middle  of  it. 
The  tanned  goatskin  robe,  which  formed  his  ordinary 
attire  in  times  of  peace,  was  tied  lightly  around  his 
waist,  so  as  to  serve  the  purposes  of  a  belt,  and  through 
it  were  stuck,  on  the  right  and  left  sides  respectively, 
his  short  pear-shaped  sime,  or  sword,  which  is  made  of 
a  single  piece  of  steel,  and  carried  in  a  wooden  sheath, 
and  an  enormous  knobkerrie.  But  perhaps  the  most 
remarkable  feature  of  his  attire  consisted  of  a  head- 
dress of  ostrich  feathers,  which  was  fixed  on  the  chin 
and  passed  in  front  of  the  ears  to  the  forehead,  and, 
being  shaped  like  an  ellipse,  completely  framed  the 
face,  so  that  the  diabolical  countenance  appeared  to 
project  from  a  sort  of  feather  fire-screen.  Round  the 
ankles  he  wore  black  fringes  of  hair,  and  projecting 
from  the  upper  portion  of  the  calves,  to  which  they 
were  attached,  were  long  spurs  like  spikes,  from  which 
flowed  down  tufts  of  tht  beautiful  black  and  waving  hair 
of  the  Colobus  monkey.  Such  was  the  elaborate  array 
of  the  Masai  Elmoran  who  stood  watching  the  ap- 
proach of  our  two  canoes. 

Whilst    we   were    hesitating   what   to    do,    the   Masai 

138 


IN    THE    LAND    OF    THE    MASAI. 

warrior  drew  himself  up  in  a  dignified  fashion,  shook 
his  huge  spear  at  us,  and,  turning,  vanished  on  the 
other  side  of  the  slope. 

'"Hulloa!"  holloaed  Sir  Henry,  from  the  other  boat; 
"our  friend,  the  caravan  leader  has  been  as  good  as 
his  word,  and  set  the  Masai  after  us.  Do  you  think  it 
will  be  safe  to  go  ashore?" 

I  did  not  think  it  would  be  at  all  safe;  but,  on  the 
other  hand,  we  had  no  means  of  cooking  in  the  canoes, 
and  nothing  that  we  could  eat  raw,  so  it  was  difficult 
to  know  what  to  do.  At  last  Umslopogaas  simplified 
matters  by  volunteering  to  go  and  reconnoitre,  which 
he  did,  creeping  off  into  the  bush  like  a  snake,  whilst 
we  hung  ofT  in  the  stream  waiting  for  him.  In  half  an 
hour  he  returned,  and  told  us  there  was  not  a  Masai  to 
be  seen  anywhere  about,  but  that  he  had  discovered  a 
spot  where  they  had  recently  been  encamped,  and  that 
from  various  indications  he  judged  that  they  must  have 
moved  on  an  hour  or  so  before,  the  man  we  saw  having 
no  doubt  been  left  to  report  upon  our  movements. 

Thereupon  we  landed;  and,  having  posted  a  sentry, 
proceeded  to  cook  and  eat  our  evening  meal.  This 
done,  we  took  the  situation  into  our  serious  considera- 
tion. Of  course,  it  was  possible  that  the  apparition  of 
the  Masai  warrior  had  nothing  to  do  with  us,  that  he 
was  merely  one  of  a  band  bent  upon  some  marauding 
and  murdering  expedition  against  another  tribe.  Our 
friend  the  Consul  had  told  us  that  such  expeditions 
were  about.  But  when  we  recalled  the  threat  of  the 
caravan  leader  and  reflected  upon  the  ominous  way  in 
which  the  warrior  had  shaken  his  spear  at  us,  this  did 
not  appear  very  probable.  On  the  contrary,  what  did 
seem  probable  was  that  the  party  was  after  us  and 
awaiting  a  favorable  opportunity  to  attack  us.  This 
being  so,  there  were  two  things  that  we  could  do — one 
of  which  was  to  go  on,  and  the  other  to  go  back.     The 


139 


FAMOUS  TALES  OF   BATTLE,   CAMP  AND   SIEGE. 

latter  idea  was,  however,  rejected  at  once,  it  being 
obvious  that  we  should  encounter  as  many  dangers  in 
retreat  as  in  advance;  and,  besides,  we  had  made  up 
our  minds  to  journey  onwards  at  any  price. 


Ill     THE    MISSION    STATION 

A  sudden  bend  in  the  river  brought  us  in  sight  of  a 
substantial-looking  European  house  with  a  verandah 
round  it,  splendidly  situated  upon  a  hill,  and  sur- 
rounded by  a  high  stone  wall  with  a  ditch  on  the  outer 
side.  Right  against  and  overshadowing  the  house  was 
an  enormous  pine,  the  top  of  which  we  had  seen 
through  a  glass  for  the  last  two  days,  but  of  course 
without  knowing  that  it  marked  the  site  of  the  mission 
station.  I  was  the  first  to  see  the  house,  and  could 
not  restrain  myself  from  giving  a  hearty  cheer,  in  which 
the  others,  including  the  natives,  joined  lustily.  There 
was  no  thought  of  halting  now.  On  we  labored,  for, 
unfortunately,  though  the  house  seemed  quite  near, 
it  was  still  a  long  way  off  by  river,  until  at  last,  by 
one  o'clock,  we  found  ourselves  at  the  bottom  of  the 
slope  on  which  the  building  stood.  Running  the  canoes 
to  the  bank,  we  disembarked,  and  were  just  hauling 
them  up  on  to  the  shore,  when  we  perceived  three 
figures,  dressed  in  ordinary  English-looking  clothes, 
hurrying  down  through  a  grove  of  trees  to  meet  us. 

"A  gentleman,  a  lady,  and  a  little  girl,"  ejaculated 
Good,  after  surveying  the  trio  through  his  eyeglass, 
"walking  in  a  civilized  fashion,  through  a  civilized  gar^ 
den,  to  meet  us  in  this  place.  Hang  me,  if  this  isn't 
the  most  curious  thing  we  have  seen  yet!" 

"How  do  you  do,  sirs,"  said  Mr.  Mackenzie,  a  gray- 
haired,  angular  man,  with  a  kindly  face  and  red  cheeks; 
"I  hope  I  see  you  very  well.     My  natives  told  me  an 


140 


IN    THE    LAND    OF    THE    MASAI. 

hour  ago  they  spied  two  canoes  with  white  men  in 
them  coming  up  the  river;  so  we  have  just  come  down 
to   meet  you." 

"And  it  is  very  glad  that  we  are  to  see  a  white  face 
again,  let  me  tell  you,"  put  in  the  lady — a  charming 
and  refined-looking  person. 

We  took  off  our  hats  in  acknowledgment,  and  pro- 
ceeded to  introduce  ourselves. 

"And  now,"  said  Mr.  Mackenzie,  "you  must  all  be 
hungry  and  weary;  so  come  on,  gentlemen,  come  on, 
and  right  glad  we  are  to  see  you." 

Meanwhile  we  had  been  walking  up  the  slope  of  the 
hill,  the  lower  portion  of  which  was  fenced  off,  some- 
times with  quince  fences  and  sometimes  with  rough 
stone  walls,  into  Kaffir  gardens,  just  now  full  of  crops 
of  mealies,  pumpkins,  potatoes,  etc.  In  the  corners  of 
these  gardens  were  groups  of  neat  mushroom-shaped 
huts,  occupied  by  Mr.  Mackenzie's  mission  natives, 
whose  women  and  children  came  pouring  out  to  meet 
us  as  we  walked.  Through  the  centre  of  the  gardens 
ran  the  roadway  up  which  we  were  walking.  It  was 
bordered  on  each  side  by  a  line  of  orange  trees,  which, 
although  they  had  only  been  planted  ten  years,  had,  in 
the  lovely  climate  of  the  uplands  below  Mt.  Kenia,  the 
base  of  which  is  about  5,000  feet  above  the  coast-line 
level,  already  grown  to  imposing  proportions,  and  were 
positively  laden  with  golden  fruit.  After  a  stiffish  climb 
of  a  quarter  of  a  mile  or  so — for  the  hillside  was  steep — 
we  came  to  a  splendid  quince  fence,  also  covered  with 
fruit,  which  enclosed,  Mr.  Mackenzie  told  us,  a  space 
of  about  four  acres  of  ground  that  contained  his  pri- 
vate garden,  house,  church,  and  outbuildings,  and,  in- 
deed, the  whole  hill-top.     And  what  a  garden  it  was! 

Just  then  we  came  to  a  ditch  about  ten  feet  wide, 
and  full  of  water,   on  the  other  side  of  which  was  a 


141 


FAMOUS   TALES   OF   CATTLE,   CAMP   AND   SIEGE. 

loopholcd  stone  wall  eight  feet  high,  and  with  sharp 
flints  plentifully  set  in  mortar  on  the  coping. 

"There,"  said  Mr.  Mackenzie,  pointing  to  the  ditch 
and  wall,  "this  is  my  'magnum  opus;'  at  least,  this  and 
the  church,  which  is  the  other  side  of  the  house.  It 
took  me  and  twenty  natives  two  years  to  dig  the  ditch 
and  build  the  wall,  but  I  never  felt  safe  till  it  was  done; 
and  now  I  can  defy  all  the  savages  in  Africa,  for  the 
spring  that  fills  the  ditch  is  inside  the  wall,  and  bub- 
bles out  at  the  top  of  the  hill  winter  and  summer  alike, 
and  I  always  keep  a  store  of  four  months'  provisions 
in  the  house." 

Crossing  over  a  plank  and  through  a  very  narrow 
opening  in  the  wall,  we  entered  into  what  Mrs.  Mac- 
kenzie called  her  domain — namely,  the  flower-garden, 
the  beauty  of  which  is  really  beyond  my  power  to  de- 
scribe. I  do  not  think  I  ever  saw  such  roses,  gar- 
denias, or  camellias  (all  reared  from  seeds  or  cuttings 
sent  from  England) ;  and  there  was  also  a  patch  given 
up  to  a  collection  of  bulbous  roots  mostly  collected  by 
Miss  Flossie,  Mr.  Mackenzie's  little  daughter,  from 
the  surrounding  country,  some  of  which  were  sur- 
passingly beautiful.  In  the  middle  of  this  garden,  and 
exactly  opposite  the  verandah,  a  beautiful  fountain  of 
clear  water  bubbled  up  from  the  ground,  and  fell  into  a 
stone-work  basin  which  had  been  carefully  built  to  re- 
ceive it,  whence  the  overflow  found  its  way  by  means 
of  a  drain  to  the  moat  round  the  outer  wall,  this  moat 
in  its  turn  serving  as  a  reservoir,  whence  an  unfailing 
supply  of  water  was  available  to  irrigate  all  the  gardens 
below.  The  house  itself,  a  massively-built,  single- 
storied  building,  was  roofed  with  slabs  of  stone,  and 
had  a  handsome  verandah  in  front.  It  was  built  on 
three  sides  of  a  square,  the  fourth  side  being  taken 
up  by  the  kitchens,  which  stood  separate  from  the 
house — a  very  good  plan  in  a  hot  country. 


142 


IN    THE    LAND    OF   THE    MASAI. 

When  dinner  was  over,  we  lit  our  pipes,  and  Sir 
Henry  proceeded  to  give  our  host  a  description  of  our 
journey  up  here,  over  which  he  looked  very  grave. 

"It  is  evident  to  me,"  he  said,  "that  those  rascally 
Masai  are  following  you,  and  I  am  very  thankful  that 
you  have  reached  this  house  in  safety.  I  do  not  think 
that  they  will  dare  to  attack  you  here.  It  is  unfor- 
tunate, though,  that  nearly  all  my  men  have  gone  down 
to  the  coast  with  ivory  and  goods.  There  are  two  hun- 
dred of  them  in  the  caravan,  and  the  consequence  is 
that  I  have  not  more  than  twenty  men  available  for 
defensive  purposes  in  case  they  should  attack  us.  But, 
still,  I  will  just  give  a  few  orders;"  and,  calling  a 
black  man  who  was  loitering  about  outside  in  the  gar- 
den, he  went  to  the  window,  and  addressed  him  in  the 
Swahili  dialect.  The  man  listened,  and  then  saluted 
and  departed. 

"I  am  sure  I  devoutly  hope  that  we  shall  bring  no 
such  calamity  upon  you,"  said  I,  anxiously,  when  he 
had  taken  his  seat  again.  "Rather  than  bring  those 
bloodthirsty  villains  about  your  ears,  we  will  move  on 
and  take  our  chance." 

"You  will  do  nothing  of  the  sort.  If  the  Masai  come, 
they  come,  and  there  is  an  end  on  it;  and  I  think  we 
can  give  them  a  pretty  warm  greeting.  I  would  not 
show  any  man  the  door  for  all  the  Masai  in  the  world." 


IV     INKOSI-KAAS 

After  dinner  we  thoroughly  inspected  all  the  out- 
buildings and  grounds  of  the  station,  which  I  consider 
the  most  successful  as  well  as  the  most  beautiful  place 
of  the  sort  that  I  have  seen  in  Africa.  We  then  re- 
turned to  the  verandah,  where  we  found  Umslopogaas 
taking  advantage  of  this  favorable  opportunity  to  clean 


143 


FAMOUS  TALES   OF   BATTLE,   CAMP  AND   SIEGE. 

thorouglily  all  the  rifles.  This  was  the  only  work 
that  he  ever  did  or  was  asked  to  do,  for  as  a  Zulu 
chief  it  was  beneath  his  dignity  to  work  with  his  hands; 
but  such  as  it  was  he  did  it  very  well.  It  was  a  curious 
sight  to  see  the  great  Zulu  sitting  there  upon  the 
floor,  his  battle-axe  resting  against  the  wall  behind 
him,  whilst  his  long,  aristocratic-looking  hands  were 
busily  employed,  delicately  and  with  the  utmost  care, 
cleaning  the  mechanism  of  the  breech-loaders.  He  had 
a  name  for  each  gun.  One — a  double  four-bore  belong- 
ing to  Sir  Henry — 'was  the  Tliunderer;  another,  my 
500  Express,  which  had  a  peculiarly  sharp  report,  was 
"the  little  one  who  spoke  like  a  whip;"  the  Winchester 
repeaters  were  "the  women,  who  talked  so  fast  that 
you  could  not  tell  one  word  from  another;"  the  six 
Martinis  were  "the  common  people,"  and  so  on  with 
them  all.  It  was  very  curious  to  hear  him  addressing 
each  gun  as  he  cleaned  it,  as  though  it  were  an  indi- 
vidual, and  in  a  vein  of  the  quaintest  humor.  He  did 
the  same  with  his  battle-axe,  which  he  seemed  to  look 
upon  as  an  intimate  friend,  and  to  which  he  would 
at  times  talk  by  the  hour,  going  over  all  his  old  ad- 
ventures with  it — and  dreadful  enough  some  of  them 
were.  By  a  piece  of  grim  humor,  he  had  named  this 
axe  "Inkosi-kaas,'  which  is  the  Zulu  word  for  chief- 
tainess.  For  a  long  while  I  could  not  make  out  why 
he  gave  it  such  a  name,  and  at  last  I  asked  him,  when 
he  informed  me  that  the  axe  was  evidently  feminine, 
because  of  her  womanly  habit  of  prying  very  deep  into 
things,  and  that  she  was  clearly  a  chieftainess  because 
all  men  fell  down  before  her,  struck  dumb  at  the  sight 
of  her  beauty  and  power.  In  the  same  way  he  would 
consult  "Inkosi-kaas"  if  in  any  dilemma;  and  when  I 
asked  him  why  he  did  so  he  informed  me  it  was  be- 
cause she  must  needs  be  wise,  having  looked  into  so 
many  people's  brains." 


144 


IN    THE    LAND    OF   THE    MASAI. 

I  took  up  the  axe  and  closely  examined  this  for- 
midable weapon.  It  was,  as  I  have  said,  of  the  nature 
of  a  pole-axe.  The  haft,  made  out  of  an  enormous 
rhinoceros  horn,  was  three  feet  three  inches  long,  about 
an  inch  and  a  quarter  thick,  and  with  a  knob  at  the 
end  as  large  as  a  Maltese  orange,  left  there  to  prevent 
the  hand  from  slipping.  This  horn  haft,  though  so 
massive,  was  as  flexible  as  cane,  and  practically  un- 
breakable; but,  to  make  assurance  doubly  sure,  it  was 
whipped  round  at  intervals  of  a  few  inches  with  copper 
wire — all  the  parts  where  the  hands  grip  being  thus 
treated.  Just  above  where  the  haft  entered  the  head 
were  scored  a  number  of  little  nicks,  each  nick  repre- 
senting a  man  killed  in  battle  with  the  weapon.  The 
axe  itself  was  made  of  the  most  beautiful  steel,  and 
apparently  of  European  manufacture,  though  Umslo- 
pogaas  did  not  know  where  it  came  from,  having 
taken  it  from  the  hand  of  a  chief  he  had  killed  in 
battle  many  years  before.  It  was  not  very  heavy,  the 
head  weighing  two  and  a  half  pounds,  as  nearly  as  I 
could  judge.  The  cutting  part  was  slightly  concave  in 
shape-^not  convex,  as  is  generally  the  case  with  savage 
battle-axes,  and  sharp  as  a  razor,  measuring  five  and 
three-quarter  inches  across  the  widest  part.  From  the 
back  of  the  axe  sprang  a  stout  spike  four  inches  long,  for 
the  last  two  of  which  it  was  hollow,  and  shaped  like  a 
leather  punch,  with  an  opening  for  anything  forced 
into  the  hollow  at  the  punch  end  to  be  pushed  out 
above — in  fact,  in  this  respect,  it  exactly  resembled  a 
butcher's  pole-axe.  It  was  with  this  punch  end,  as  we  af- 
terwards discovered,  that  Umslopogaas  usually  struck 
when  fighting,  driving  a  neat,  round  hole  in  his  ad- 
versary's skull,  and  only  using  the  broad  cutting  edge 
for  a  circular  sweep,  or  sometimes  in  a  melee.  I  think 
he  considered  the  punch  a  neater  and  more  sportsman- 
like tool,  and  it  was  from  his  habit  of  pecking  at  his 


145 


FAMOUS  TALES  OF   BATTLE,   CAMP  AND   SIEGE. 

enemy  with  it  that  he  got  his  name  of  "Woodpecker." 
Certainly  in  his  hands  it  was  a  terribly  efficient  one. 

Such  was  Umslopogaas's  axe,  Inkosi-kaas,  the  most 
remarkable  and  fatal  hand-to-hand  weapon  that 
I  ever  saw,  and  one  which  he  cherished  as  much  as 
his  own  life.  It  scarcely  ever  left  his  hand  except 
while  he  was  eating,  and  then  he  always  sat  with  it 
under  his  leg. 

Just  then  the  spies  whom  our  host  had  sent  out  in 
the  morning  to  find  out  if  there  were  any  traces  of  our 
Masai  friends  about,  returned,  and  reported  that  the 
country  had  been  scoured  for  fifteen  miles  around 
without  a  single  Elmoran  being  seen,  and  that  they 
believed  that  those  gentry  had  given  up  the  pursuit 
and  returned  whence  they  came.  Mr.  Mackenzie  gave 
a  sigh  of  relief  when  he  heard  this,  and  so  indeed  did 
we,  for  we  had  had  quite  enough  of  the  Masai  to 
last  us  for  some  time.  Indeed,  the  general  opinion 
was  that,  finding  we  had  reached  the  mission  station 
in  safety,  they  had,  knowing  its  strength,  given  up  the 
pursuit  of  us  as  a  bad  job.  How  ill-judged  that  view 
was  the  sequel  will  show. 


V       THE   MISSING   CHILD 

Next  morning  at  breakfast  I  missed  Flossie,  and 
asked   where   she   was. 

"Well,"  said  her  mother,  "when  I  got  up  this  morn- 
ing I  found  a  note  put  outside  my  door  in  which 

But,  here  it  is,  you  can  read  it  for  yourself,"  and  she 
gave  me  a  slip  of  paper  on  which  the  following  was 
written : 

"Dearest  M , — It  is  just  dawn,  and  I  am  of?  to  the 

hills  to  get  Mr.   Q a  bloom  of  the  lily  he  wants, 

146 


IN    THE    LAND   OF   THE    MASAI. 

so  don't  expect  me  till  you  see  me.  I  have  taken  the 
white  donkey;  and  nurse  and  a  couple  of  boys  are 
coming  with  me — also  something  to  eat,  as  I  may  be 
away  all  day,  for  I  am  determined  to  get  the  lily  if  I 
have  to  go  twenty  miles  for  it. — Flossie." 

"I  hope  she  will  be  all  right,"  I  said,  a  little  anxious- 
ly; "I  never  meant  her  to  trouble  after  the  flower." 

"Ah,  Flossie  can  look  after  herself,"  said  her  mother; 
"she  often  goes  off  in  this  way,  like  a  true  child  of  the 
wilderness."  But  Mr.  Mackenzie,  who  came  in  just 
then  and  saw  the  note  for  the  first  time,  looked  rather 
grave,  though  he  said  nothing. 

After  breakfast  was  over  I  took  him  aside  and  asked 
him  if  it  would  not  be  possible  to  send  after  the  girl 
and  get  her  back,  having  in  view  the  possibility  of 
there  still  being  some  Masai  hanging  about,  at  whose 
hands  she  might  come  to  harm. 

"I  fear  it  would  be  of  no  use,"  he  answered.  "She 
may  be  fifteen  miles  off  by  now,  and  it  is  impossible 
to  say  what  path  she  has  taken.  There  are  the  hills;" 
and  he  pointed  to  a  long  range  of  rising  ground 
stretching  almost  parallel  with  the  course  followed  by 
the  river  Tana,  but  gradually  sloping  down  to  a  dense, 
bush-clad  plain  about  five  miles  short  of  the  house. 

Here  I  suggested  that  we  might  get  up  the  great 
tree  over  the  house  and  search  the  country  round  with 
a  spyglass;  and  this,  after  Mr.  Mackenzie  had  given 
some  orders  to  his  people  to  try  and  follow  Flossie's 
spoor,  we  did. 

The  ascent  of  the  mighty  tree  was  rather  a  jumpy 
performance,  even  with  a  sound  rope  ladder  fixed  at 
both  ends  to  climb  up,  at  least  to  a  landsman;  but 
Good  came  up  like  a  lamplighter. 

On  reaching  the  height  at  which  the  hrst  fern-shaped 
boughs  sprang  from  the  bole,  we  stepped  without  any 


147 


FAMOUS  TALES   OF   BATTLE,   CAMP  AND   SIEGE. 

difficulty  upon  a  platform  made  of  boards,  nailed  from 
one  bough  to  another,  and  large  enough  to  accommo- 
date a  dozen  people.  As  for  the  view,  it  was  simply 
glorious.  In  every  direction  the  bush  rolled  away  in 
great  billows  for  miles  and  miles,  as  far  as  the  glass 
would  show,  only  here  and  there  broken  by  the  brighter 
green  of  patches  of  cultivation,  or  by  the  glittering 
surface  of  lakes.  To  the  northwest,  Kenia  reared  its 
mighty  head,  and  we  could  trace  the  Tana  River  curl- 
ing like  a  silver  snake  almost  from  his  feet,  and  far 
away  beyond  us  towards  the  ocean.  It  is  a  glorious 
country,  and  only  wants  the  hand  of  civilized  man  to 
make  it  a  most  productive  one. 

But,  look  as  we  would,  we  could  see  no  signs  of 
Flossie  and  her  donkey,  so  at  last  had  to  come  down 
disappointed.  On  reaching  the  verandah  I  found  Um- 
slopogaas  sitting  there,  slowly  and  lightly  sharpening 
his  axe  with  a  small  whetstone  he  always  carried  with 
him. 

"What  doest  thou,  Umslopogaas?"   I   asked. 

"I  smell  blood,"  was  the  answer,  and  I  could  get  no 
more  out  of  him. 

After  dinner  we  again  went  up  the  tree  and  searched 
the  surrounding  country  with  a  spyglass,  but  without 
result.  When  we  came  down  Umslopogaas  was  still 
sharpening  Inkosi-kaas,  although  she  already  had  an 
edge  like  a  razor. 

"That  is  an  uncomfortable  sort  of  retainer  of  yours," 
said  Mr.  Mackenzie. 

"Yes,"  answered  I,  "it  is  ill  jesting  with  such  as  he. 
When  he  is  roused  he  is  like  a  fiend,  and  yet  he  has  a 
kind  heart  in  his  own  fierce  way.  I  remember  years 
ago  seeing  him  nurse  a  sick  child  for  a  week.  He  is  a 
strange  character,  but  true  as  steel,  and  a  strong  stick 
to  rest  on  in  danger." 

"He  says  he  smells  blood,"  said  Mr.  Mackenzie.     "I 

148 


IN    THE   LAND    OF   THE    MASAI. 

only  trust  he  is  not  right.  I  am  getting  very  fearful 
about  my  little  girl.  She  must  have  gone  far,  or  she 
would  be  home  by  now.     It  is  half-past  three  o'clock." 

I  pointed  out  that  she  had  taken  food  with  her,  and 
very  likely  would  not,  in  the  ordinary  course  of  events, 
return  till  nightfall;  but  I  myself  felt  very  anxious,  and 
fear  that  my  anxiety  betrayed  itself. 

Shortly  after  this,  the  people  whom  Mr.  Mackenzie 
had  sent  out  to  search  for  Flossie  returned,  stating 
that  they  had  followed  the  spoor  of  the  donkey  for  a 
couple  of  miles  and  had  then  lost  it  on  stony  ground, 
nor  could  they  discover  it  again.  They  had,  however, 
scoured  the  country  far  and  wide,  but  without  success. 

After  this  the  afternoon  wore  drearily  on,  and  to- 
wards evening,  there  being  still  no  sign  of  Flossie,  our 
anxiety  grew  very  keen.  As  for  the  poor  mother,  she 
was  quite  prostrated  by  her  fears,  and  no  wonder,  but 
her  father  kept  his  head  wonderfully  well.  Everything 
that  could  be  done  was  done;  people  were  sent  out  in 
all  directions,  shots  were  fired,  and  a  continuous  out- 
look kept  from  the  gate  and  tree,  but  without  avail. 

And  then  at  last  it  grew  dark,  and  still  no  sign  of 
fair-haired  little   Flossie. 

At  eight  o'clock  we  had  supper.  It  was  but  a  sor- 
rowful meal,  and  Mrs.  Mackenzie  did  not  appear  at  it. 
We  three  also  were  very  silent,  for,  in  addition  to  our 
natural  anxiety  as  to  the  fate  of  the  child,  we  were 
weighed  down  by  the  sense  that  we  had  brought  this 
trouble  on  the  head  of  our  kind  host.  When  supper 
was  nearly  at  an  end  I  made  an  excuse  to  leave  the 
table.  I  wanted  to  get  outside  and  think  the  situation 
over.  I  went  on  the  verandah,  and,  having  lit  my  pipe, 
sat  down  on  a  seat  about  a  dozen  feet  from  the  right- 
hand  end  of  the  structure,  which  was,  as  the  reader  may 
remember,  e.xactly  opposite  one  of  the  narrow  doors 
of  the   protecting   wall   that   enclosed   the   house   and 


149 


I 


FAMOUS  TALES   OF   BATTLE,   CAMP  AND   SIEGE. 

flower-garden.  I  had  been  sitting  there  perhaps  six 
or  seven  minutes  when  I  thought  I  heard  the  door 
move.  I  looked  in  that  direction  and  listened,  but, 
being  unable  to  make  out  anything,  concluded  that  I 
must  have  been  mistaken.  It  was  a  darkish  night,  the 
moon  not  having  yet  risen. 

Another  minute  passed,  when  suddenly  something 
round  fell  with  a  soft  but  heavy  thud  upon  the  stone 
flooring  of  the  verandah,  and  came  bounding  and 
rolling  along  past  me.  For  a  moment  I  did  not  rise, 
but  sat  wondering  what  it  could  be.  Finally  I  con- 
cluded it  must  have  been  an  animal.  Just  then,  how- 
ever, another  idea  struck  me,  and  I  got  up  quick 
enough.  The  thing  lay  quite  still  a  few  feet  beyond  me. 
I  put  down  my  hand  towards  it  and  it  did  not  move; 
clearly  it  was  not  an  animal.  My  hand  touched  it.  It 
was  soft  and  warm  and  heavy.  Hurriedly  I  lifted  it  and 
held  it  up  against  the  faint  starlight. 

It  was  a  newly-severed  human  head! 

I  am  an  old  hand  and  not  easily  upset,  but  I  own 
that  that  ghastly  sight  made  me  feel  sick.  How  had 
the  thing  come  there?  Whose  was  it?  I  put  it  down 
and  ran  to  the  little  doorway.  I  could  see  nothing, 
hear  nobody.  I  was  about  to  go  out  into  the  darkness 
beyond,  but  remembering  that  to  do  so  was  to  expose 
myself  to  the  risk  of  being  stabbed,  I  drew  back,  shut 
the  door,  and  bolted  it.  Then  I  returned  to  the  veran- 
dah, and,  in  as  careless  a  voice  as  I  could  command, 
called  Curtis.  I  fear,  however,  that  my  tones  must 
have  betrayed  me,  for  not  only  Sir  Henry,  but  also 
Good  and  Mackenzie,  rose  from  the  table  and  came 
hurrying  out. 

"What  is  it?"  said  the  clergyman,  anxiously. 

Then  I  had  to  tell  them. 

Mr.  Mackenzie  turned  pale  as  death  under  his  red 
skin.     We  were  standing  opposite  the  hall  door  and 


ISO 


IN   THE    LAND    OF   THE   MASAI. 

there  was  a  light  in  it  so  that  I  could  see.  He  snatched 
the  head  up  by  the  hair  and  held  it  in  the  light. 

"It  is  the  head  of  one  of  the  men  who  accompanied 
Flossie,"  he  said,  with  a  gasp.  "Thank  God,  it  is  not 
hers!" 

We  all  stood  and  stared  at  each  other  aghast.  What 
was  to  be  done? 

Just  then  there  was  a  knocking  at  the  door  that  I 
had  bolted,  and  a  voice  cried,  "Open,  my  father,  open!" 

The  door  was  unlocked,  and  in  fled  a  terrified  man. 
He  was  one  of  the  spies  who  had  been  sent  out. 

"My  father,"  he  cried,  "the  Masai  are  on  us!  A 
great  body  of  them  have  passed  round  the  hill  and 
are  moving  towards  the  old  stone  kraal  down  by  the 
little  stream.  My  father,  make  strong  thy  heart!  In  the 
midst  of  them  I  saw  the  white  ass,  and  on  it  sat  the 
Waterlily  (Flossie).  An  Elmoran  (young  warrior)  led 
the  ass,  and  by  its  side  walked  the  nurse,  weeping.  The 
men  who  went  with  her  in  the  morning  I  saw  not." 

"Was  the  child  alive?"  asked  Mr.  Mackenzie, 
hoarsely. 

"She  was  white  as  the  snow,  but  well,  my  father. 
They  passed  quite  close  to  me,  and  looking  up  from 
where  I  lay  hid  I  saw  her  face  against  the  sky." 

"God  help  her  and  us!"  groaned  the  clergyman. 

"How  many  are  there  of  them?"  I  asked. 

"More  than  two  hundred — two  hundred  and  a  half  a 
hundred." 

Once  more  we  looked  one  on  the  other.  What  was 
to  be  done? 


VI     THE   MASAI   MESSENGER 

Just  then  there  arose  a  loud,   insistent   cry   outside 
the  wall. 


iSi 


FAMOUS  TALES  OF   BATTLE,   CAMP  AND   SIEGE. 

"Open  the  door,  white  man;  open  the  door!  A 
herald — a  herald  to  speak  with  thee."  Thus  cried  the 
voice. 

Umslopogaas  ran  to  the  wall,  and.  reaching  with 
his  long  arms  to  the  coping,  lifted  his  head  above  it  and 
gazed  over. 

"I  see  but  one  man,"  he  said.  "He  is  armed,  and 
carries  a  basket  in  his  hand." 

"Open  the  door,"  I  said.  "Umslopogaas,  take  thine 
axe  and  stand  thereby.  Let  one  man  pass.  If  an- 
other follows,  slay." 

The  door  was  unbarred.  In  the  shadow  of  the  wall 
stood  Umslopogaas,  his  axe  raised  above  his  head  to 
strike.  Just  then  the  moon  came  out.  There  was  a 
moment's  pause,  and  then  in  stalked  a  Masai  Elmoran, 
clad  in  the  full  war  panoply  that  I  have  already  de- 
scribed, and  bearing  a  large  basket  in  his  hand.  The 
moonlight  shone  bright  upon  his  great  spear  as  he 
walked.  He  was  physically  a  splendid  man,  apparently 
about  thirty-five  years  of  age.  Indeed,  none  of  the 
Masia  that  I  saw  were  under  six  feet  high,  though 
mostly  quite  young.  When  he  got  opposite  to  us  he 
halted,  put  down  the  basket,  and  stuck  the  spike  of  his 
spear  into  the  ground,  so  that  it  stood  upright. 

"Let  us  talk,"  he  said.  "The  first  messenger  we  sent 
to  you  could  not  talk;"  and  he  pointed  to  the  head, 
which  lay  upon  the  paving  of  the  stoop — a  ghastly 
sight  in  the  moonlight;  "but  I  have  words  to  speak 
if  ye  have  ears  to  hear.  Also  I  bring  presents;"  and  he 
pointed  to  the  basket  and  laughed,  with  an  air  of 
swaggering  insolence  that  is  perfectly  indescribable, 
and  yet  which  one  could  not  but  admire,  seeing  that  he 
was  surrounded  by  enemies. 

"Say  on,"  said  Mr.  Mackenzie. 

"I  am  the  'Lygonani'  (war  captain)  of  a  part  of  the 
Masai  of  the  Guasa  Amboni.     I  and  my  men  followed 

IS2 


IN   THE    LAND    OF   THE    MASAI. 

these  three  white  men,"  and  he  pointed  to  Sir  Henry, 
Good,  and  myself,  "but  they  were  too  clever  for  us, 
and  escaped  hither.  We  have  a  quarrel  with  them,  and 
are  going  to  kill  them." 

"Are  you,  my  friend?"  said  I  to  myself. 

"In  following  these  men  we  this  morning  caught  two 
black  men,  one  black  woman,  a  white  donkey,  and  a 
white  girl.  One  of  the  black  men  we  killed — there  is 
his  head  upon  the  pavement;  the  other  ran  away.  The 
black  woman,  the  little  white  girl,  and  the  white  ass 
we  took  and  brought  with  us.  In  proof  thereof  I 
have  brought  this  basket  that  she  carried.  Is  it  not 
thy  daughter's  basket?" 

Mr.  Mackenzie  nodded,  and  the  warrior  went  on. 

"Good!  With  thee  and  thy  daughter  we  have  no 
quarrel,  nor  do  we  wish  to  harm  thee,  save  as  to  thy 
cattle,  which  we  have  already  gathered,  two  hundred 
and  forty  head — a  beast  for  every  man's  father."  ^ 

Here  Mr.  Mackenzie  gave  a  groan,  as  he  greatly 
valued  this  herd  of  cattle,  which  he  bred  with  much 
care  and  trouble. 

"So,  save  for  the  cattle,  thou  mayst  go  free;  more 
especially,"  he  added,  frankly,  glancing  at  the  wall, 
"as  this  place  would  be  a  difficult  one  to  take.  But  as 
to  these  men  it  is  otherwise;  we  have  followed  them 
for  eight  days,  and  must  kill  them.  Were  we  to  return 
to  our  kraal  without  having  done  so,  all  the  girls  would 
make  a  mock  of  us.  So,  however  troublesome  it  may 
be,  they  must  die. 

"Now,  I  have  a  proposition  for  thine  ear.  We  would 
not  harm  the  little  girl;  she  is  too  fair  to  harm,  and  has 
besides  a  brave  spirit.  Give  us  one  of  these  three 
men — a  life  for  a  life — and  we  will  let  her  go,  and  throw 
in  the  black  woman  with  her  also.     This  is  a  fair  ofTer, 

1  The  Masai  Elmoran  or  young  warrior  can  own  no  property,  so  all 
the  booty  they  may  win  in  battle  belongs  to  their  fathers  alone.  —A.  Q. 

153 


FAMOUS  TALES   OF   BATTLE,   CAMP  AND   SIEGE. 

white  man.  We  ask  but  for  one,  not  for  the  three;  we 
must  take  another  opportunity  to  kill  the  other  two. 
I  do  not  even  pick  my  man,  though  I  should  prefer  the 
l)ig  one,"  pointing  to  Sir  Henry;  "he  looks  strong,  and 
would  die  more  slowly." 

"And  if  I  say  I  will  not  yield  the  man?"  said  Mr. 
Mackenzie. 

"Nay,  say  not  so.  white  man,"  answered  the  Masai, 
"for  then  thy  daughter  dies  at  dawn,  and  the  woman 
with  her  says  thou  hast  no  other  child.  Were  she 
older  I  would  take  her  for  a  servant;  but  as  she  is  so 
young  I  will  slay  her  with  my  own  hand — aye,  with 
this  very  spear.  Thou  canst  come  and  see,  an'  thou 
wilt.  I  give  thee  a  safe  conduct;"  and  the  fiend  laughed 
aloud  at  his  brutal  jest. 

Meanwhile  I  had  been  thinking  rapidly,  as  one  does 
in  emergencies,  and  had  come  to  the  conclusion  that 
I  would  exchange  myself  against  Flossie.  I  scarcely 
like  to  mention  the  matter  for  fear  it  should  be  mis- 
understood. Pray  do  not  let  anyone  be  misled  into 
thinking  that  there  was  anything  heroic  about  this,  or 
any  such  nonsense.  It  was  merely  a  matter  of  com- 
mon sense  and  common  justice.  My  life  was  an  old 
and  worthless  one,  hers  was  young  and  valuable.  Her 
death  would  pretty  well  kill  her  father  and  mother  also, 
whilst  nobody  would  be  much  the  worse  for  mine;  in- 
deed, several  charitable  institutions  would  have  cause 
to  rejoice  thereat.  It  was  indirectly  through  me  that 
the  dear  little  girl  was  in  her  present  position.  Lastly, 
a  man  was  better  fitted  to  meet  death  in  such  a  pe- 
culiarly awful  form  than  a  sweet  young  girl.  Not, 
however,  that  I  meant  to  let  these  gentry  torture  me  to 
death — ^I  am  far  too  much  of  a  coward  to  allow  that, 
being  naturally  a  timid  man  my  plan  was  to  see  the  girl 
safely  exchanged  and  then  to  shoot  myself,  trusting 
that    the    Almighty    would   take    the    peculiar    circum- 


154 


IN    THE    LAND    OF   THE    MASAI. 

stances  of  the  case  into  consideration  and  pardon  the 
act.  All  this  and  more  went  throug'h  my  mind  in  a 
very  few  seconds. 

"x'Vll  right,  Mackenzie,"  I  said;  "you  can  tell  the 
man  that  I  will  exchange  myself  against  Flossie,  only 
I  stipulate  that  she  shall  be  safely  in  this  house  before 
they  kill  me." 

"Eh?"  said  Sir  Henry  and  Good  simultaneously. 
"That  you  don't." 

"No,  no,"  said  Mr.  Mackenzie,  "I  will  have  no  man's 
blood  upon  my  hands.  If  it  please  God  that  my  daugh- 
ter die  this  awful  death,  His  will  be  done.  You  are  a 
brave  man"  (which  I  am  not  by  any  means)  "and  a  noble 
man,  Quatermain,  but  you  shall  not  go." 

"If  nothing  else  turns  up  I  shall  go,"  I  said  decidedly. 

"This  is  an  important  matter,"  said  Mackenzie,  ad- 
dressing the  Lygonani,  "and  we  must  think  it  over. 
You  shall  have  our  answer  at  dawn." 

"Very  well,  white  man,"  answered  the  savage,  in- 
differently; "only  remember  that  if  thy  answer  is  late 
thy  little  white  bud  will  never  grow  into  a  flower,  that 
is  all,  for  I  shall  cut  it  with  this,"  and  he  touched  his 
spear.  "I  should  have  thought  that  thou  wouldst  play 
a  trick  and  attack  us  at  night,  but  I  know  from  the 
woman  with  the  girl  that  your  men  are  down  at  the 
coast,  and  that  thou  hast  but  twenty  men  here.  It  is 
not  wise,  white  man,"  he  added,  with  a  laugh,  "to  keep 
so  small  a  garrison  for  your  'boma'  (kraal).  Well, 
good-night,  and  good-night  to  you  also,  other  white 
men,  whose  eyelids  I  shall  soon  close  once  and  for  all. 
At  dawn  thou  wilt  bring  me  word.  If  not,  remember 
it  shall  be  as  I  have  said."  Then  turning  to  Umslopo- 
gaas,  who  had  all  the  while  been  standing  behind  him 
and  shepherding  him,  as  it  were,  "Open  the  door  for 
me,  fellow,  quick  now." 

This  was  too  much  for  the  old  chief's  patience.     For 


155 


FAMOUS  TALES  OF   BATTLE,   CAMP   AND   SIEGE. 

the  last  ten  minutes  his  lips  had  been,  figuratively  speak- 
ing, positively  watering  over  the  Masai  Lygonani,  and 
this  he  could  not  stand.  Placing  his  long  hand  on  the 
Elmoran's  shoulder,  he  gripped  it  and  gave  him  such  a 
twist  as  brought  him  face  to  face  with  himself.  Then, 
thrusting  his  fierce  countenance  to  within  a  few  inches 
of  the  Masai's  evil,  feather-framed  features,  he  said,  in 
a  low,  growling  voice: 

"Seest  thou  me?" 

"Ay,  fellow,  I  see  thee." 

"And  seest  thou  this?"  and  he  held  Inkosi-kaas  be- 
fore his  eyes. 

"Ay,  fellow,  I  see  the  toy;  what  of  it?" 

"Thou  Masai  dog,  thou  boasting  windbag,  thou  cap- 
turer  of  little  girls,  with  this  'toy'  will  I  hew  thee  limb 
from  limb.  Well  for  thee  that  thou  art  a  herald,  or 
even  now  would  I  strew  thy  members  about  the  grass." 

The  Masai  shook  his  great  spear  and  laughed  long 
and  loud  as  he  answered,  "I  would  that  thou  stoodst 
against  me  man  to  man,  and  we  would  see,"  and  again 
he  turned  to  go,  still  laughing. 

"Thou  shalt  stand  against  me  man  to  man,  be  not 
afraid,"  replied  Umslopogaas,  in  the  same  ominous 
voice.  "Thou  shalt  stand  face  to  face  with  Umslopo- 
gaas, of  the  blood  of  Chaka.  of  the  people  of  Amazulu, 
a  captain  in  the  regiment  of  the  Nkomabakosi,  as  many 
have  done  before,  and  bow  thyself  to  Inkosi-kaas,  as 
many  have  done  before.  Ay,  laugh  on,  laugh  on!  to- 
morrow night  shall  the  jackals  laugh  as  they  crunch 
thy  ribs." 


VII      PLANS  FOR  RESCUE 

Then  eagerly,  quickly,  almost  fiercely,  we  fell  to  dis- 
cussing the  situation. 


IS6 


IN   THE   LAND    OF   THE    MASAI. 

"It  is,"  I  said  at  last,  "absolutely  necessary  that  an 
effort  of  some  sort  should  be  made  before  the  morn- 
ing." 

"Then  let  us  attack  them  with  what  force  we  can 
muster,  and  take  our  chance,"  said  Sir  Henry. 

"Ay,  ay,"  growled  Umslopogaas,  in  Zulu;  "spoken 
like  a  man,  Incubu.  What  is  there  to  be  afraid  of? 
Two  hundred  and  fifty  Masai,  forsooth!  How  many 
are  we?  The  chief  there  (Mr.  Mackenzie)  has  twenty 
men,  and  thou,  Macumazahn,  hast  five  men,  and  there 
are  also  five  white  men — that  is,  thirty  men  in  all — 
enough,  enough.  Listen  now,  Macumazahn,  thou  who 
art  very  clever  and  old  in  war.  What  says  the  maid? 
These  men  eat  and  make  merry;  let  it  be  their  funeral 
feast.  What  said  the  dog  whom  I  hope  to  hew  down 
at  daybreak?  That  he  feared  no  attack  because  we 
were  so  few.  Knowest  thou  the  old  kraal  where 
the  men  have  camped?  I  saw  it  this  morning;  it  is 
thus:"  and  he  drew  an  oval  on  the  floor;  "here  is  the 
big  entrance,  filled  up  with  thorn  bushes,  and  opening 
on  to  a  steep  rise.  Why,  Incubu,  thou  and  I  with 
axes  will  hold  it  against  an  hundred  men  striving  to 
break  out!  Look,  now;  thus  sTiall  the  battle  go.  Just 
as  the  light  begins  to  glint  upon  the  oxen's  horns — 
not  before,  or  it  will  be  too  dark,  and  not  later,  or  they 
will  be  awakening  and  perceive  us — let  Bougwan  creep 
round  with  ten  men  to  the  top  end  of  the  kraal,  where 
the  narrow  entrance  is.  Let  them  silently  slay  the  sen- 
try there  so  that  he  makes  no  sound,  and  stand  ready. 
Then,  Incubu,  let  thee  and  me  and  one  of  the  Askari — 
the  one  with  the  broad  chest — he  is  a  brave  man — 
creep  to  the  wide  entrance  that  is  filled  with  thorn 
bushes,  and  there  also  slay  the  sentry,  and.  armed  with 
battle-axes,  take  our  stand  also  one  on  each  side  of  the 
pathway,  and  one  a  few  paces  beyond  to  deal  with 
such  as  pass  the  twain  at  the  gates.     It  is  there  that 


157 


FAMOUS  TALES  OF   BATTLE,   CAMP  AND   SIEGE. 

the  rush  will  come.  That  will  leave  sixteen  men.  Let 
these  men  be  divided  into  two  parties,  with  one  of 
which  shalt  thou  go,  Macumazahn  and  with  one  the 
'praying  man'  (Mr.  Mackenzie),  and,  all  armed  with 
rifles,  let  them  make  their  way  one  to  the  right  of  the 
kraal  and  one  to  the  left;  and  when  thou,  Macumazahn, 
lowest  like  an  ox,  all  shall  open  fire  with  the  guns 
upon  the  sleeping  men,  being  very  careful  not  to  hit 
the  little  maid.  Then  shall  Bougwan  at  the  far  end 
and  his  ten  men  raise  their  war-cry,  and,  springing  over 
the  wall,  put  the  Masai  there  to  the  sword.  And  it 
shall  happen  that,  being  yet  heavy  with  food  and  sleep, 
and  bewildered  by  the  firing  of  the  guns,  the  falling  of 
the  men,  and  the  spears  of  Bougwan,  the  soldiers  shall 
rise  and  rush  like  wild  game  towards  the  thorn- 
stopped  entrance,  and  there  the  bullets  from  either 
side  shall  plough  through  them,  and  there  shall  Incubu 
and  the  Askari  and  I  wait  for  those  who  break  through. 
Such  is  my  plan,  Macumazahn;  if  thou  hast  a  better, 
name  it." 

When  he  had  done,  I  explained  to  the  others  such 
portions  of  this  scheme  as  they  had  failed  to  under- 
stand, and  they  all  joined  with  me  in  expressing  the 
greatest  admiration  of  the  acute  and  skillful  programme 
devised  by  the  old  Zulu,  who  was  indeed,  in  his  own 
savage  fashion,  the  finest  general  I  ever  knew.  After 
some  discussion,  we  determined  to  accept  the  scheme, 
as  it  stood,  it  being  the  only  one  possible  under  the 
circumstances,  and  giving  the  best  chance  of  success 
that  such  a  forlorn  hope  would  admit  of — which,  how- 
ever, considering  the  enormous  odds  and  the  character 
of  our  foe,  was  not  very  great. 

"Ah,  old  lion!"  I  said  to  Umslopogaas,  "thou  know- 
est  how  to  lie  in  wait  as  well  as  how  to  bite,  where  to 
seize  as  well  as  where  to  hang  on." 

"Aye,  aye,  Macumazahn,"  he  answered.     "For  thirty 

158 


IN   THE    LAND    OF   THE    MASAI. 

years  have  I  been  a  warrior,  and  have  seen  many  things. 
It  will  be  a  good  fight.  I  smell  blood — I  tell  thee,  I 
smell  blood." 

As  may  be  imagined,  at  the  very  first  sign  of  a  Masai 
the  entire  population  of  the  Mission  Station  had  sought 
refuge  inside  the  stout  stone  wall,  and  were  now  to  be 
seen,  men,  women  and  countless  children,  huddled  up 
together  in  little  groups,  and  all  talking  at  once  in  awed 
tones  of  the  awfulness  of  Masai  manners  and  customs, 
and  of  the  fate  they  had  to  expect  if  those  bloodthirsty 
savages  succeeded  in  getting  over  the  stone  wall. 

Immediately  after  we  had  settled  upon  the  outline  of 
our  plan  of  action  as  suggested  by  Umslopogaas,  Mr. 
Mackenzie  sent  for  four  sharp  boys  of  from  twelve  to 
fifteen  years  of  age,  and  despatched  them  to  various 
points  from  whence  they  could  keep  an  outlook  upon 
the  Masai  camp,  with  orders  to  report  from  time  to 
time  what  was  going  on.  Other  lads,  and  even  women, 
were  stationed  at  intervals  along  the  wall  in  order  to 
guard  against  the  possibility  of  surprise. 

After  this  the  twenty  men  who  formed  his  whole 
available  fighting  force  were  summoned  by  our  host 
into  the  square  formed  by  the  house,  and  there,  stand- 
ing by  the  bole  of  the  great  conifer,  he  earnestly  ad- 
dressed them  and  our  four  Askari.  Indeed,  it  formed  a 
very  impressive  scene — one  not  likely  to  be  forgotten 
by  anybody  who  witnessed  it.  Immediately  by  the  tree 
stood  the  angular  form  of  Mr.  Mackenzie,  one  arm  out- 
stretched as  he  talked,  and  the  other  resting  against  the 
giant  bole,  his  hat  oflf,  and  his  plain  but  kindly  face 
clearly  betraying  the  anguish  of  his  mind.  Next  to 
him  was  his  poor  wife,  who,  seated  on  a  chair,  had  her 
face  hidden  in  her  hand.  On  the  other  side  of  her  was 
Alphonse,  looking  exceedingly  uncomfortable,  and  be- 
hind him  stood  the  three  of  us,  with  Umslopogaas's 
grim  and  towering  form  in  the  background,  resting,  as 


159 


FAMOUS  TALES   OF   BATTLE.   CAMP  AND   SIEGE. 

usual,  on  his  axe.  In  front  stood  and  squatted  the 
group  of  armed  men — some  with  rifles  in  their  hands, 
and  others  with  spears  and  shields — following  with 
eager  attention  every  word  that  fell  from  the  speaker's 
lips.  The  white  light  of  the  moon  peering  in  beneath 
the  lofty  boughs  threw  a  strange,  wild  glamor  over 
the  scene,  whilst  the  melancholy  soughing  of  the  night 
wind  passing  through  the  millions  of  pine  needles  over- 
head added  a  sadness  of  its  own  to  what  was  already  a 
sufficiently  tragic  occasion. 

"Men,"  said  Mr.  Mackenzie,  after  he  had  put  all  the 
circumstances  of  the  case  fully  and  clearly  before  them, 
and  explained  to  them  the  proposed  plan  of  our  forlorn 
hope — "men,  for  years  I  have  been  a  good  friend  to 
you,  protecting  you,  teaching  you,  guarding  you  and 
yours  from  harm,  and  ye  have  prospered  with  me. 
Ye  have  seen  my  child — the  Waterlily,  as  ye  call  her — 
grow  year  by  year,  from  tenderest  infancy  to  tender 
childhood,  and  from  childhood  on  towards  maiden- 
hood. She  has  been  your  children's  playmate,  she 
has  helped  to  tend  you  when  sick,  and  ye  have  loved 
her." 

"We  have,"  said  a  deep  voice,  "and  we  will  die  to 
save  her." 

"I  thank  you  from  my  heart — I  thank  you.  Sure  am 
I  that  now,  in  this  hour  of  darkest  trouble;  now  that 
her  young  life  is  like  to  be  cut  oflf  by  cruel  and  savage 
men — who  of  a  truth  'know  not  what  they  do' — ye  will 
strive  your  best  to  save  her,  and  to  save  me  and  her 
mother  from  broken  hearts.  Think,  too,  of  your  own 
wives  and  children.  If  she  dies,  her  death  will  be  fol- 
lowed by  an  attack  upon  us  here,  and  at  the  best,  even 
if  we  hold  our  own,  your  houses  and  gardens  will  be 
destroyed,  and  your  goods  and  cattle  swept  away.  I 
am,  as  ye  well  know,  a  man  of  peace.  Never  in  all 
these  years  have  I  lifted  my  hand  to  spill  man's  blood; 

i6o 


IN    THE    LAND    OF   THE    MASAI. 

but  now  I  say  strike,  strike,  in  the  name  of  God,  who 
bade  us  protect  our  lives  and  homes.  Swear  to  me," 
he  went  on,  with  added  fervor — "swear  to  me  that 
whilst  a  man  of  you  remains  alive  ye  will  strive  your 
uttermost  with  me  and  these  brave  white  men  to  save 
the  child  from  a  bloody  and  cruel  death." 

"Say  no  more,  my  father,"  said  the  same  deep  voice, 
that  belonged  to  a  stalwart  elder  of  the  Mission;  "we 
swear  it.  May  we  and  ours  die  the  death  of  dogs,  and 
our  bones  be  thrown  to  the  jackals  and  the  kites,  if  we 
break  the  oath!  It  is  a  fearful  thing  to  do,  my  father, 
so  few  to  strike  at  so  many,  yet  will  we  do  it  or  die 
in  the  doing.     We  swear!" 

"Ay.  thus  say  we  all,"  chimed  in  the  others. 

"Thus  say  we  all,"  said  I. 

"It  is  well,"  went  on  Mr.  Mackenzie.  "Ye  are  true 
men  and  not  broken  reeds  to  lean  on.  And  now, 
friends — white  and  black  together — let  us  kneel  and 
offer  up  our  humble  supplication  to  the  Throne  of 
Power,  praying  that  He  in  the  hollow  of  Whose  hand 
lie  all  our  lives,  Who  giveth  life  and  giveth  death,  may 
be  pleased  to  make  strong  our  hands  that  we  may 
prevail  in  what  awaits  us  at  the  morning's  light." 

And  he  knelt  down,  an  example  that  we  all  followed 
except  Umslopogaas,  who  still  stood  in  the  back- 
ground, grimly  leaning  on  Inkosi-kaas.  The  fierce  old 
Zulu  had  no  gods,  and  worshipped  naught,  unless  it 
were  his  battle-axe. 

Then  began  our  preparations  in  good  earnest.  As 
Umslopogaas  said,  it  was  time  to  stop  "talking"  and 
get  to  business.  The  men  who  were  to  form  each  little 
party  were  carefully  selected,  and  still  more  carefully 
and  minutely  instructed  as  to  what  was  to  be  done. 
After  much  consideration  it  was  agreed  that  the  ten 
men  led  by  Good,  whose  duty  it  was  to  stampede  the 
camo    were  not  to  carry  firearms;  that  is,  with  the  ex- 

i6i 


FAMOUS  TALES   OF  BATTLE.   CAMP  AND   SIEGE. 

ception  of  Good  himself,  who  had  a  revolver  as  well  as 
a  short  sword.  We  feared  that  if  they  had  firearms 
the  result  of  three  cross-fires  carried  on  at  once  would 
be  that  some  of  our  own  people  would  be  shot;  be- 
sides, it  appeared  to  all  of  us  that  the  work  they  had 
to  do  would  be  best  carried  out  with  cold  steel — es- 
pecially to  Umslopogaas,  who  was,  indeed,  a  great 
advocate  of  cold  steel.  We  had  with  us  four  Win- 
chester repeating  rifles,  besi'd'cs  half-a-dozen  Martinis. 
I  armed  myself  with  one  of  the  repeaters — my  own; 
an  excellent  weapon  for  this  kind  of  work,  where  great 
rapidit.v  of  fire  is  desirable,  and  fitted  with  ordinary 
flap  sights,  instead  of  the  usual  cumbersome  sliding 
•mechanism  which  they  generally  have.  Mr.  Mac- 
kenzie took  another,  and  the  two  remaining  ones  were 
given  to  two  of  his  men  who  understood  the  use  of 
them  and  were  noted  shots.  The  Martinis  and  some 
rifles  of  Mr.  Mackenzie's  were  served  out,  together 
with  a  plentiful  supply  of  ammunition,  to  the  other  na- 
tives who  were  to  form  the  two  parties  whose  duty 
it  was  to  open  fire  from  separate  sides  of  the  kraal  on 
the  sleeping  Masai,  and  who  were  fortunately  all  more 
or  less  accustomed  to  the  use  of  a  gun. 

As  for  Umslopogaas,  we  know  how  he  was  armed — 
with  an  axe.  It  maj'  be  remembered  that  he.  Sir 
Henry,  and  the  strongest  of  the  Askari  were  to  hold  the 
thorn-stopped  entrance  to  the  kraal  against  the  antici- 
pated rush  of  men  striving  to  escape.  Of  course,  for 
such  a  purpose  as  this  guns  were  useless.  Therefore 
Sir  Henry  and  the  Askari  proceeded  to  arm  themselves 
in  like  fashion.  It  so  happened  that  Mr.  Mackenzie 
had  in  his  store  a  selection  of  the  very  best  steel  Eng- 
lish-made hammer-back  axe-heads.  Sir  Henry  selected 
one  of  these  weighing  about  two  and  a  half  pounds 
and  very  broad  in  the  blade,  and  the  Askari  took  an- 
other a  size  smaller.     After  Umslopogaas  had  put  an 

162 


IN    THE    LAND    OF   THE    MASAI. 

extra  edge  on  these  two  axe-heads,  we  fixed  them  to 
three  feet  six  helves,  of  which  Mr.  Mackenzie  fortu- 
nately had  some  in  stock,  made  of  a  light  but  exceed- 
ingly tough  native  wood,  something  like  an  English 
ash,  only  more  springy.  When  two  suitable  helves  had 
been  selected  with  great  care,  and  the  ends  of  the  haft 
notched  to  prevent  the  hand  from  slipping,  the  axe- 
heads  were  fixed  on  them  as  firmly  as  possible,  and  the 
weapons  immersed  in  a  bucket  of  water  for  half  an 
hour.  The  result  of  this  was  to  swell  the  wood  in  the 
socket  in  such  a  fashion  that  nothing  short  of  burning 
would  get  it  out  again.  When  this  important  matter 
had  been  attended  to  by  Umslopogaas,  I  went  into  my 
room  and  proceeded  to  open  a  little  tin-lined  deal  case, 
which  had  not  been  undone  since  we  left  England,  and 
which  contained — what  do  you  think? — nothing  more 
nor  less  than  four  mail  shirts. 

It  had  happened  to  us  three  on  a  previous  journey 
that  we  had  made  in  another  part  O'f  Africa  to  owe 
our  lives  to  iron  shirts  of  native  make,  and  remember- 
ing this,  I  had  suggested  before  we  started  on  our 
present  hazardous  expedition  that  we  should  have  some 
made  to  fit  us.  There  was  a  little  difficulty  about  this, 
as  armor-making  is  pretty  well  an  extinct  art,  but  they 
can  do  most  things  in  the  way  of  steel  work  in  Bir- 
mingham if  they  are  put  to  it  and  you  will  pay  the 
price,  and  the  end  of  it  was  that  they  turned  us  out  the 
loveliest  steel  shirts  it  is  possible  to  see.  The  work- 
manship was  exceedingly  fine,  the  web  being  com- 
posed of  thousands  upon  thousands  of  stout  but  tiny 
rings  of  the  best  steel  made.  These  shirts,  or  rather 
steel-sleeved  and  high-necked  jerseys,  were  lined  with 
ventilated  wash  leather,  were  not  bright,  but  browned 
like  the  barrel  of  a  gun;  and  mine  weighed  exactly 
seven  pounds  and  fitted  me  so  well  that  I  found  I  could 
wear  it  for  days  next  my  skin  without  being  chafed. 

163 


FAMOUS  TALES   OF   BATTLE,   CAMP  AND   SIEGE. 

Sir  Henrj'  had  two,  one  of  the  ordinary  make,  viz.,  a 
jersey  with  little  dependent  flaps  meant  to  afford  some 
protection  to  the  upper  part  of  the  thighs,  and  another 
of  his  own  design,  fashioned  on  the  pattern  of  the  gar- 
ments advertised  as  "combinations,"  and  weighing 
twelve  pounds.  This  combination  shirt,  of  which  the 
seat  was  made  of  wash-leather,  protected  the  whole 
body  down  to  the  knees,  but  was  rather  more  cumber- 
some, inasmuch  as  it  had  to  be  laced  up  the  back, 
and,  of  course,  involved  some  e.xtra  weight.  With  these 
shirts  were  what  looked  like  four  brown  cloth  traveling 
caps  with  ear  pieces.  Eac*h  of  these  caps  was,  however, 
quilted  w.ith  steel  links,  so  as  to  afford  a  most  valuable 
protection  for  the  head. 

It  seems  almost  laughable  to  talk  of  steel  shirts  in  these 
days  of  bullets,  against  which  they  are,  of  course,  quite 
useless;  but  where  one  has  to  <lo  with  savages,  armed 
with  cutting  weapons,  such  as  assegais  or  battle-axes, 
they  afford  the  most  valuable  protection,  being,  if  well 
made,  quite  invulnerable  to  them.  As  Curtis  had  two, 
I  suggested  that  he  should  lend  the  other  to  Umslopo- 
gaas,  who  was  to  share  in  the  danger  and  the  glory  of 
'his  post.  He  readily  consented,  and  called  the  Zulu, 
who  came  bearing  Sir  Henry's  axe,  which  he  had  now- 
fixed  up  to  his  satisfaction,  with  him.  When  we  showed 
him  the  steel  shirt,  and  explained  to  'him  that  we 
wanted  him  to  wear  it,  he  at  first  declined,  saying  that 
he  had  fought  in  his  own  skin  for  thirty  years,  and 
that  he  was  not  going  to  begin  now  to  fig^ht  in  an  iron 
one.  Thereupon  I  took  a  heavy  spear,  and,  spreading 
the  shirt  upon  fhe  floor,  drove  the  spear  down  upon  it 
with  all  my  strength,  the  weapon  rebounding  without 
leaving  a  mark  upon  the  tempered  steel.  This  exhibi- 
tion half  converted  him;  and  when  I  pointed  out  to 
him  how  necessary  it  was  that  he  should  not  let  any 
old-fashioned  prejudices  he  might  possess  stand  in  the 

164 


IN    THE    LAND    OF   THE    MASAI. 

way  of  a  precaution  which  might  preserve  a  valuable 
life  at  a  time  when  men  were  scarce,  and  also  that  if 
he  wore  this  shirt  he  might  dispense  with  a  shield,  and 
so  have  both  hands  free,  he  yielded  at  once,  and  pro- 
ceeded to  invest  his  great  frame  with  the  "iron  skin." 

It  was  now  nearly  one  o'clock  in  the  morning,  and 
the  spies  reported  that,  after  having  drunk  the  blood 
of  the  oxen  and  eaten  enormous  quantities  of  meat, 
the  Masai  were  going  to  sleep  around  their  watch- 
fires;  but  that  sentries  had  been  posted  at  each  opening 
of  the  kraal.  Flossie,  they  added,  was  sitting  not  far 
from  the  wall  in  the  center  of  the  western  side  of  the 
kraal,  and  by  her  were  the  nurse  and  white  donkey, 
which  was  tethered  to  a  peg.  Her  feet  were  bound 
with  a  rope,  and  warriors  were  lying  about  all  round 
her. 

Meanwhile  Umslopogaas  was  mustering  the  men  in 
the  square  under  the  big  tree  and  going  the  rounds 
to  see  that  each  was  properly  armed,  etc.  At  the  last 
moment  we  made  one  change.  Finding  that  two  of  the 
men  who  were  to  have  gone  with  the  firing  parties 
knew  little  or  nothing  of  guns,  but  were  good  spears- 
men,  we  took  away  their  rifles,  supplied  them  with 
shields  and  long  spears  of  the  Masai  pattern,  and  told 
them  off  to  join  Curtis,  Umslopogaas  and  the  Askari 
in  holding  the  wide  opening;  it  having  become  clear  to 
us  that  three  men,  however  brave  and  strong,  were 
too  few  for  the  work. 


VIII     THE  BATTLE  WITH  THE  MASAI 

The  cattle  kraal  where  tlie  Masai  were  camped  lay 
at  the  foot  of  the  hill  on  which  the  house  stood,  or, 
roug<hly  speaking,  about  eight  hundred  yards  from  the 
Mission    buildings.     The    first    five    hundred    yards    of 


i6s 


FAMOUS  TALES   OF   BATTLE,   CAMP  AND   SIEGE. 

this  distance  we  traversed  quietly  indeed,  but  at  a  good 
pace;  after  that  we  crept  forward  as  silently  as  a 
leopard  on  his  prey,  gliding  like  ghosts  from  bush  to 
bush  and  stone  to  stone. 

At  last  we  were  within  fifty  yards  of  the  kraal.  Be- 
tween us  and  it  was  an  open  space  of  sloping  grass 
with  only  one  mimosa  bush  and  a  couple  of  tussocks 
of  a  sort  of  thistle  for  cover.  We  were  still  hidden  in 
fairly  thick  busih.  It  was  beginning  to  grow  light. 
The  stars  had  paled  and  a  sickly  gleam  played  about 
the  east  and  was  reflected  on  the  earth.  We  could  see 
the  outline  of  the  kraal  clearly  enough,  and  could  also 
make  out  the  faint  glimmer  of  the  dying  embers  of 
the  Masai  camp-fires.  We  halted  and  watc'hed,  for 
the  sentry  we  knew  was  posted  at  the  opening.  Pres- 
ently he  appeared,  a  fine,  tall  fellow,  walking  idly  up 
and  down  within  five  paces  of  the  thorn-stopped  en- 
trance. We  had  hoped  to  catch  him  napping,  but  it 
was  not  to  be.  He  seemed  particularly  wide  awake.  If 
we  could  not  kill  that  man,  and  kill  him  silently,  we 
were  lost.  There  we  crouched  and  watched  him. 
Presently  Umslopogaas,  wlio  was  a  few  paces  ahead  of 
me,  turned  and  made  a  sign,  and  next  second  I  saw 
him  go  down  on  his  stomach  like  a  snake,  and,  taking 
an  opportunity  when  the  sentry's  head  was  turned,  be- 
gin to  work  his  way  through  the  grass  without  a  sound. 

The  unconscious  sentry  began  to  hum  a  little  tune, 
and  Umslopogaas  crept  on.  He  reached  the  shelter  o{ 
the  mimosa  bush  and  there  waited.  Still  the  sentry 
walked  up  and  down.  Presently  he  turned  and  looked 
over  the  wall  into  the  camp.  Instantly  the  human 
snake  who  was  stalking  him  glided  on  ten  yards  and 
got  behind  one  of  the  tussocks  of  the  thistle-like  plant, 
reaching  it  as  the  Elmoran  turned  again.  As  he 
turned  his  eye  fell  upon  this  patch  of  thistles  and  it 
seemed  to  strike  him  that  it  did  not  look  quite  right. 

i66 


IN   THE   LAND    OF   THE    MASAI. 

He  advanced  a  pace  toward  it — ^halted,  yawned,  stooped 
down,  picked  up  a  little  pebble  and  threw  it  at  it.  It 
hit  Umslopogaas  upon  the  head,  luckily  not  upon  the 
armor  shirt.  Had  it  done  so  the  clink  would  have 
betrayed  us.  Luckily,  too,  the  shirt  was  browned,  and 
not  bright  steel,  which  would  certainly  have  been  de- 
tected. Apparently  satisfied  that  there  was  nothing 
wrong,  he  then  gave  over  his  investigations  and  con- 
tented himself  with  leaning  on  his  spear  and  standing 
gazing  idly  at  the  tuft.  For  at  least  three  minutes  did  he 
stand  thus,  plunged  apparently  in  a  gentle  reverie,  and 
there  we  lay  in  the  last  extremity  of  anxiety,  expecting 
every  moment  that  we  should  be  discovered  or  that 
some  untoward  accident  would  happen. 

At  last  the  ordeal  came  to  an  end.  The  sentry 
glanced  at  the  east,  and  appeared  to  note  with  satis- 
faction that  his  period  of  duty  was  coming  to  an  end — 
as  indeed  it  was,  once  and  for  all — for  he  rubbed  his 
hands  and  began  to  walk  again  briskly  to  warm  him- 
self. 

The  moment  his  back  was  turned  the  long  black 
snake  glided  on  again,  and  reached  the  other  thistle 
tuft,  whidh  was  within  a  couple  of  paces  of  his  return 
beat. 

Back  came  the  sentry  and  strolled  right  past  the 
tuft,  utterly  unconscious  of  the  presence  that  was 
crouching  behind  it.  Had  he  looked  down  he  could 
scarcely  have  failed  to  see,  but  he  did  not  do  so. 

He  passed,  and  then  his  hidden  enemy  erected  'him- 
self, and  with  outstretched  hand  followed  in  his  tracks. 

A  moment  more,  and,  just  as  the  Elmoran  was 
about  to  turn,  the  great  Zulu  made  a  spring,  and  in 
the  growing  light  we  could  see  the  long,  lean  hands 
close  round  the  Masai's  throat.  Then  followed  a  con- 
vulsive twining  of  the  two  dark  bodies,  and  in  another 
second  I  saw  the  Masai's  head  bent  back,  and  heard  a 

167 


FAMOUS  TALES  OF   BATTLE,   CAMP  AND   SIEGE. 

sharp  crack,  something  like  that  of  a  dry  twig  snap- 
ping, and  he  fell  down  to  the  ground,  his  limbs  moving 
spasmodically. 

Umslopogaas  had  put  out  all  his  strength  and  broken 
the  warrior's  neck. 

For  a  moment  he  knelt  upon  his  victim,  still  gripping 
his  throat  till  lie  was  sure  that  there  was  nothing  more 
to  fear  from  him,  and  then  he  rose  and  beckoned  to  us 
to  advance,  which  we  did  on  all  fours,  like  a  colony  of 
huge  apes.  On  reaching  the  kraal  we  saw  that  the 
Masai  had  still  further  choked  this  entrance,  which  was 
about  ten  feet  wide — no  doubt  in  order  to  guard  against 
attack — by  dragging  four  or  five  tops  of  mimosa  trees 
up  to  it.  So  much  the  better  for  us,  I  reflected;  the 
more  obstruction  there  was  the  slower  would  they  be 
able  to  come  throug^i.  Here  we  separated;  Mackenzie 
and  his  party  creeping  up  under  the  shadow  of  the 
wall  to  the  left,  while  Sir  Henry  and  Umslopogaas 
took  up  their  stations  one  on  each  side  of  the  thorn 
fence,  the  two  spearmen  and  the  Askari  lying  down  in 
front  of  it.  I  and  my  men  crept  up  the  right  side  of 
the  kraal,  which  was  about  fifty  paces  long. 

When  I  w'as  two-thirds  up  I  halted,  and  placed  my 
men  at  distances  of  four  paces  from  one  another,  keep- 
ing Alphonse  close  to  me,  however.  Then  I  peeped 
for  the  first  time  over  the  wall.  It  was  getting  fairly 
light  now,  and  the  first  thing  I  saw  was  the  white 
donkey,  exactly  opposite  to  me,  and  close  by  it  I 
could  make  out  little  Flossie's  pale  face,  sitting  as  the 
lad  had  described,  some  ten  paces  from  the  wall.  Round 
her  lay  many  warriors,  sleeping.  At  distances  all  over 
the  surface  of  the  kraal  were  the  remains  of  fires,  round 
each  of  which  slept  some  five  and  twenty  Masai,  for 
the  most  part  gorged  with  food.  Now  and  then  a  man 
would  raise  himself,  yawn,  and  look  at  the  east,  which 
had   now   turned   primrose;    but   none   got   up.     I   de- 

i68 


IN    THE    LAND    OF    THE    MASAI. 

termined  to  wait  another  five  minutes,  both  to  allow  the 
light  to  increase,  so  that  we  could  make  better  shoot- 
ing, and  to  give  Good  and  his  party — of  whom  I  could 
see  or  hear  nothing — every  opportunity  to  make  ready. 

The  quiet  dawn  commenced  to  throw  her  ever-widen- 
ing mantle  over  plain  and  forest  and  river — mighty 
Kenia,  wrapped  in  the  silence  of  eternal  snows,  looked 
out  across  the  earth — till  presently  a  beam  from  the  un- 
risen  sun  lit  upon  his  heaven-kissing  crest  and  pur- 
pled it  with  blood;  the  sky  above  grew  blue,  and  tender 
as  a  mother's  smile;  a  bird  began  to  pipe  his  morning 
song,  and  a  little  breeze,  passing  through  the  bush, 
shook  down  the  dewdrops  in  millions  to  refresh  the 
waking  world.  Everywhere  was  peace  and  the  happi- 
ness of  arising  strength,  everywhere  save  in  the  heart 
of  cruel  man! 

Suddenly,  just  as  I  was  nerving  myself  for  the  signal, 
having  already  selected  my  man  on  whom  I  meant  to 
open  fire — a  great  fellow  sprawling  on  the  ground 
within  three  feet  of  little  Flossie — Alphonse's  teeth  be- 
gan to  chatter  again  like  the  hoofs  of  a  galloping 
giraflfe,  making  a  great  noise  in  the  silence.  Instantly 
a  Masai  within  three  paces  of  us  awoke,  and,  sitting 
up,  gazed  about  him,  looking  for  the  cause  of  the 
sound.  Moved  beyond  myself,  I  brought  the  butt-end 
of  my  rifle  down  on  the  pit  of  the  Frenchman's  stom- 
ach. This  stopped  his  chattering;  but,  as  he  doubled 
up,  he  managed  to  let  ofi  his  gun  in  such  a  manner 
that  the  bullet  passed  within  an  inch  of  my  head. 

There  was  no  need  for  a  signal  now.  From  both 
sides  of  the  kraal  broke  out  a  waving  line  of  fire,  in 
which  I  myself  joined,  managing  by  a  snap  shot  to 
knock  over  my  Masai  by  Flossie,  just  as  he  was  jump- 
ing up.  Then  from  the  top  end  of  the  kraal  there 
rang  an  awful  yell,  in  which  I  rejoiced  to  recognize 
Good's  piercing  note  rising  clear  and  shrill  above  the 

169 


FAMOUS  TALES   OF  RATTLE,   CAMP  AND   SIEGE 

din,  and  in  another  second  followed  such  a  scene  as  I 
have  never  seen  before  nor  shall  again.  With  a  uni- 
versal howl  of  terror  and  fury,  the  brawny  crowd  of 
savages  within  the  kraal  sprang  to  their  feet,  many  of 
them  to  fall  again  beneath  our  well-directed  hail  of 
lead  before  they  had  moved  a  yard.  For  a  moment 
they  stood  undecided,  and  then,  hearing  the  cries  and 
curses  that  rose  unceasingly  from  the  top  end  of  the 
kraal,  and  bewildered  by  the  storm  of  bullets,  they,  as 
by  one  impulse,  rushed  down  upon  the  thorn-stopped 
entrance.  As  they  went  we  kept  pouring  our  fire  with 
terrible  effect  into  the  thickening  mob  as  fast  as  we 
could  load.  I  had  emptied  my  repeater  of  the  ten  shots 
it  contained,  and  was  just  beginning  to  slip  in  some 
more  when  I  bethought  me  of  little  Flossie.  Looking 
up,  I  saw  that  the  white  donkey  was  lying  kicking, 
having  been  knocked  over  either  by  one  of  our  bullets 
or  a  Masai  spear-thrust.  There  were  no  living  Masai 
near,  but  the  black  nurse  was  on  her  feet  and  with  a 
spear  cutting  the  rope  that  bound  Flossie's  feet.  Next 
second  she  ran  to  the  wall  of  the  kraal  and  began  to 
climb  over  it,  an  example  which  the  little  girl  followed. 
But  Flossie  was  evidently  very  stiff  and  cramped,  and 
could  only  go  slowly,  and  as  she  went  two  Masai  flying 
down  the  kraal  caught  sight  of  her  and  rushed  towards 
her  to  kill  her.  The  first  fellow  came  up  just  as  the 
poor  little  girl,  after  a  desperate  effort  to  climb  the 
wall,  fell  back  into  the  kraal.  Up  flashed  the  great 
spear,  and  as  it  did  so  a  bullet  from  my  rifle  found  its 
home  in  the  holder's  ribs,  and  over  he  went  like  a 
shot  rabbit.  But  behind  him  was  the  other  man,  and, 
alas,  I  had  only  that  one  cartridge  in  the  magazine! 
Flossie  had  scrambled  to  her  feet  and  was  facing  the 
second  man,  who  was  advancing  with  raised  spear.  I 
turned  my  head  aside  and  felt  sick  as  death.  I  could 
not  bear  to  see  him  stab  her.     Glancing  up  again,  to 


170 


IN   THE    LAND    OF   THE    MASAI. 

my  surprise  I  saw  the  Masai's  spear  lying  on  the 
ground,  while  the  man  himself  was  staggering  about 
with  both  hands  to  his  head.  Suddenly  I  saw  a  puff 
of  smoke,  proceeding  apparently  from  Flossie,  and 
the  man  fell  down  headlong.  Then  I  remembered  the 
Derringer  pistol  she  carried,  and  saw  that  she  had 
fired  both  barrels  of  it  at  him,  thereby  saving  her  life. 
In  another  instant  she  had  made  an  effort,  and,  assisted 
by  the  nurse,  who  was  lying  on  the  top,  had  scrambled 
over  the  wall,  and  I  knew  that  she  was,  comparatively 
speaking,  safe. 

All  this  takes  some  time  to  tell,  but  I  do  not  suppose 
that  it  took  more  than  fifteen  seconds  to  enact.  I 
soon  got  the  magazine  of  the  repeater  filled  again 
with  cartridges,  and  once  more  opened  fire,  not  on  the 
seething  black  mass  which  was  gathering  at  the  end 
of  the  kraal,  but  on  fugitives  who  bethought  tihem  to 
climb  the  wall.  I  picked  oflf  several  of  these  men, 
moving  down  towards  the  end  of  the  kraal  as  I  did  so, 
and  arriving  at  the  corner,  or  rather  at  the  bend  of 
the  oval,  in  time  to  see,  and  by  means  of  my  rifle  to 
assist  in,  the  mighty  struggle  that  took  place  there. 

By  this  time  some  two  hundred  Masai — allowing  that 
we  had  up  to  the  present  accounted  for  fifty — had 
gathered  together  in  front  of  the  thorn-stopped  en- 
trance, driven  thither  by  the  spears  of  Good's  men, 
whom  they  doubtless  supposed  were  a  large  force, 
instead  of  being  but  ten  strong.  For  some  reason  it 
never  occurred  to  them  to  try  and  rush  the  wall,  which 
they  could  have  scrambled  over  with  comparative  ease; 
they  all  made  for  the  fence,  which  was  really  a  strongly 
interwoven  fortification.  With  a  bound  the  first  war- 
rior went  at  it,  and  even  before  he  touched  the  ground 
on  the  other  side  I  saw  Sir  Henry's  great  axe  swing 
up  and  fall  with  awful  force  upon  his  feather  head- 
piece, and  he  sank  into  the  middle  of  the  thorns.    Then, 


171 


FAMOUS  TALES  OF  BATTLE.   CAMP  AND   SIEGE. 

with  a  yell  and  a  crash,  they  began  to  break  through 
somehow,  and  ever  as  they  carne  the  great  axe  swung 
and  Inkosi-kaas  flashed,  and  they  fell  dead  one  by 
one,  each  man  thus  helping  to  build  up  a  barrier  against 
his  fellows.  Those  who  escaped  the  axes  of  the  pair 
fell  at  the  hands  of  the  Askari  and  the  two  Mission 
Kaffirs,  and  those  who  passed  scathless  from  them 
were  brought  low  by  my  own  and  Mackenzie's  fire. 

Faster  and  more  furious  grew  the  fighting.  Single 
Masai  would  spring  upon  the  dead  bodies  of  their  com- 
rades, and  engage  one  or  other  of  the  axemen  with 
their  long  spears;  but,  thanks  chiefly  to  the  mail  shirts, 
the  result  was  always  the  same.  Presently  there  was 
a  great  swing  of  the  axe,  a  sound  of  crashing  bones, 
and  another  dead  Masai.  That  is,  if  the  man  was  en- 
gaged with  Sir  Henry.  If  it  was  Umslopogaas  that 
he  fought  with,  the  result  indeed  would  be  the  same, 
but  it  would  be  differently  attained.  It  was  but  rarely 
the  Zulu  used  the  crushing  double-handed  stroke;  on 
the  contrary,  he  did  little  more  than  tap  continually  at 
his  adversary's  head,  pecking  at  it  with  the  pole-axe 
end  of  the  axe  as  a  woodpecker  ^  pecks  at  rotten  wood. 
Presently  a  peck  would  go  home,  and  his  enemy 
would  drop  down  with  a  neat  little  circular  hole  in  his 
forehead  or  skull,  exactly  similar  to  that  which  a 
cheese-scoop  makes  in  a  cheese.  He  never  used  the 
broad  blade  of  the  axe  except  when  hard  pressed,  or 
when  striking  at  a  shield.  He  told  me  afterwards  that 
he  did  not  consider  it  sportsmanlike. 

Good  and  his  men  were  quite  close  by  now,  and  our 
people  had  to  cease  firing  into  the  mass  for  fear  of 
killing  some  of  them  (as  it  was,  one  of  them  had  been 

As  I  think  I  have  already  said,  one  of  Umslopogaas's  Zulu  names 
was  the '  Woodpecker. '  I  could  never  make  out  why  he  was  called  so 
until  1  saw  him  in  action  with  Inkosi-kaas  when  I  at  once  recognized 
the  resemblance.  —  A.  Q, 

172 


IN   THE   LAND    OF   THE   MASAI. 

slain  in  this  way).  Mad  and  desperate  with  fear,  the 
Masai  by  a  frantic  effort  burst  through  the  thorn  fence 
and  piled-up  dead,  and,  sweeping  Curtis,  Umslopogaas, 
and  the  other  three  before  them,  broke  into  the  open. 
And  now  it  was  that  we  began  to  lose  men  fast.  Down 
went  our  poor  Askari  who  was  armed  with  the  axe, 
a  great  spear  standing  out  a  foot  behind  his  back;  and 
before  long  the  two  spearmen  who  had  stood  with  him 
went  down  too,  dying  fighting  like  tigers;  and  others 
of  our  party  shared  the  same  fate.  For  a  moment  I 
feared  the  fight  was  lost — certainly  it  trembled  in  t'ne 
balance.  I  shouted  to  my  men  to  cast  down  their 
rifles,  and  to  take  spears  and  throw  themselves  into 
the  melee.  They  obeyed,  their  blood  being  now  thor- 
oughly up,  and  Mr.  Mackenzie's  people  followed  their 
example. 

This  move  had  a  momentary  good  result,  but  still 
the  fight  hung  in  the  balance. 

Our  people  fought  magnificently,  hurling  themselves 
upon  the  dark  mass  of  Elmoran,  hewing,  thrusting, 
slaying,  and  being  slain.  And  ever  above  the  din  rose 
Good's  awful  yell  of  encouragement,  as  he  plunged, 
eyeglass  and  all,  to  wherever  the  fight  was  thickest; 
and  ever,  with  an  almost  machine-like  regularity,  the 
two  axes  rose  and  fell,  carrying  death  and  disablement 
at  every  stroke.  But  I  could  see  that  the  strain  was 
beginning  to  tell  upon  Sir  Henry,  who  was  bleeding 
from  several  flesh  wounds;  his  breath  was  coming  in 
gasps,  and  the  veins  stood  out  on  his  forehead  like 
blue  and  knotted  cords.  Even  Umslopogaas,  man  of 
iron  that  he  was,  was  hard  pressed.  I  noticed  that  he 
had  given  up  "woodpecking,"  and  was  now  using  the 
broad  blade  of  Inkosi-kaas,  "browning"  his  enemy 
wherever  he  could  hit  him,  instead  of  drilling  scientific 
holes  in  his  head.  I  myself  did  not  go  into  the  melee, 
but  hover'id  outside  like  the  swift  "back"  in  a  football 


173 


FAMOUS  TALES  OF   BATTLE.   CAMP  AND  SIEGE, 

scrimmage,  putting  a  bullet  through  a  Masai  whenever 
I  got  a  chance.  I  was  more  use  so.  I  fired  forty-nine 
cartridges  that  morning,  and  I  did  not  miss  many- 
shots. 

Presently,  do  as  we  would,  the  beam  of  the  balance 
began  to  rise  against  us.  We  had  not  more  than  fif- 
teen or  sixteen  effectives  left  now,  and  the  Masai  had  at 
least  fifty.  Of  course,  if  they  had  kept  their  heads,  and 
shaken  themselves  together,  they  could  soon  have 
made  an  end  of  the  matter;  but  that  is  just  what  they 
did  not  do,  not  having  yet  recovered  from  their  start, 
and  some  of  them  having  actually  fled  from  their  sleep- 
ing places  without  their  weapons.  Still,  by  now  many 
individuals  were  fighting  with  their  normal  courage  and 
discretion,  and  this  alone  was  sufficient  to  defeat  us. 
To  make  matters  worse,  just  then,  when  Mackenzie's 
rifle  was  empty,  a  brawny  savage  armed  with  a  "sime," 
or  sword,  made  a  rush  for  him.  The  clergyman  flung 
down  his  gun,  and,  drawing  his  huge  carver  from  his 
elastic  belt  (his  revolver  had  dropped  out  in  the  fight), 
they  closed  in  desperate  struggle.  It  was  really  a  sight 
to  see  that  good  but  angular  man  go  in — coat-tails, 
broad-brimmed  hat,  carving-knife  and  all.  They  say 
that  nobody  is  so  bitter  as  an  apostate,  so,  on  the  same 
principle,  for  fighting  purposes  at  a  pinch,  commend 
me  to  a  man  of  peace.  At  any  rate,  Mackenzie's  play 
with  the  carving-knife  was  something  beautiful,  though 
I  fear  that  the  Society  of  Friends  would  not  have  ap- 
proved of  this  way  of  "converting  the  heathen."  Pres- 
ently, locked  in  a  close  embrace,  missionary  and  Masai 
rolled  on  the  ground  behind  the  wall,  and  for  some  time 
I,  being  amply  occupied  with  my  own  affairs,  and  in 
keeping  my  skin  from  being  pricked,  remained  in  ig- 
norance of  his  fate  or  how  the  duel  had  ended. 

To  and  fro  surged  the  figiht,  slowly  turning  round 
like  the  vortex  of  a  human  whirlpool,  and  things  be- 


124 


IN    THE    LAND    OF   THE    MASAI. 

gan  to  look  very  bad  for  us.  Just  then,  however,  a 
fortunate  thing  happened.  Umslopogaas,  either  by  ac- 
cident or  design,  broke  out  of  the  ring  and  engaged  a 
warrior  at  some  paces  from  it.  As  he  did  so  another 
man  ran  up  and  struck  him  with  all  his  force  between 
the  shoulders  with  his  great  spear,  which,  falling  on 
the  tough  steel  shirt,  failed  to  pierce  it,  and  rebounded. 
For  a  moment  the  man  stared  aghast — protective  ar- 
mor being  unknown  among  these  tribes — and  then  'he 
yelled  out  at  the  top  of  his  voice — 

"They  are  devils — bewitched,  bewitched!"  And, 
seized  by, a  sudden  panic,  he  threw  down  his  spear,  and 
began  to  fly.  I  cut  short  his  career  with  a  bullet,  and 
Umslopogaas  brained  his  man,  and  then  the  panic 
spread  to  the  others. 

"Bewitched,  bewitched!"  they  cried,  and  tried  to  es- 
cape in  every  direction,  utterly  demoralized  and  broken- 
spirited,  for  the  most  part  even  throwing  down  their 
shields  and  spears. 

On  the  last  scene  of  that  dreadful  fight  I  need  not  dwell. 
It  was  a  slaughter  great  and  grim,  in  which  no  quarter 
was  asked  or  given.  One  incident,  however,  is  worth 
detailing.  Just  as  I  was  hoping  that  it  was  all  done 
with,  suddenly  from  under  a  heap  of  slain,  where  he 
had  been  hiding,  an  unwounded  warrior  sprang  up,  and. 
clearing  the  piles  of  dying  and  dead  like  an  antelope, 
sped  like  the  wind  up  the  kraal  towards  the  spot  where 
I  was  standing  at  the  moment.  But  he  was  not  alone, 
for  Umslopogaas  came  gliding  on  his  tracks  with  the 
peculiar  swallow-like  motion  for  which  he  was  noted, 
and  as  they  neared  me  I  recognized  in  the  Masai  the 
herald  of  the  previous  night.  Finding  that,  run  as  he 
would,  his  pursuer  was  gaining  on  him,  the  man  halted 
and  turned  round  to  give  battle.  Umslopogaas  also 
pulled  up. 

"Ah,  ah,"  he  cried,  in  mockery,  to  the  Elmoran,  "it 


»75 


FAMOUS  TALES   OF   BATTLE,   CAMP  AND   SIEGE. 

is  thou  whom  I  talked  with  last  night — the  Lygonani, 
the  Herald,  the  capturer  of  little  girls — he  who  would 
kill  a  little  girl.  And  thou  didst  hope  to  stand  man  to 
man  and  face  to  face  with  an  Induna  of  the  tribe  of 
Maquilisini,  of  the  people  of  the  Amazulu?  Behold, 
thy  prayer  is  granted!  And  I  did  swear  to  hew  thee 
limb  from  limb,  thou  insolent  dog.  Behold,  I  will  do 
it  even  now!" 

The  Masai  ground  his  teeth  with  fury,  and  charged 
at  the  Zulu  with  his  spear.  As  he  came,  Umslopogaas 
deftly  stepped  aside,  and,  swinging  Inkosi-kaas  high 
above  his  head  with  both  hands,  brought  the  broad 
blade  down  with  such  fearful  force  from  behind  upon 
the  Masai's  shoulder,  just  where  the  neck  is  set  into 
the  frame,  that  its  razor  edge  shore  right  through  bone 
and  flesh  and  muscle,  almost  severing  the  head  and  one 
arm  from  the  body. 

"Ou!"  ejaculated  Umslopogaas,  contemplating  the 
corpse  of  his  foe;  "I  have  kept  my  word.  It  was  a 
good  stroke." 

And  so  the  fight  was  ended. 

At  the  kraal  entrance  the  scene  was  a  strange  one. 
The  slaughter  was  over  by  now,  and  the  wounded  men 
had  been  put  out  of  their  pain,  for  no  quarter  had  been 
given.  The  bush-closed  entrance  was  trampled  flat, 
and  in  place  of  bushes  it  was  filled  with  the  bodies  of 
dead  men.  Dead  men,  everywhere  dead  men — they  lay 
about  in  knots,  they  were  flung  by  ones  and  twos  in 
every  position  upon  the  open  spaces,  for  all  the  world 
like  the  people  on  the  grass  in  one  of  the  London  parks 
on  a  particularly  hot  Sunday  in  August.  In  front  of 
this  entrance,  on  a  space  which  had  been  cleared  of  dead 
and  of  the  shields  and  spears  which  were  scattered  in  all 
directions  as  they  had  fallen  or  been  thrown  from  the 
hands  of  their  owners,  stood  and  lay  the  survivors  of 
the  awful  struggle,  and  at  their  feet  were  four  wounded 

176 


IN   THE    LAND    OF   THE    MASAI. 

men.  We  had  gone  into  the  fight  thirty  strong,  and 
of  the  thirty  but  fifteen  remained  alive,  and  five  of  them 
(including  Mr.  Mackenzie)  were  v^'ounded,  two  mor- 
tally. Of  those  who  held  the  entrance,  Curtis  and  the 
Zulu  alone  remained.  Good  had  lost  five  men  killed, 
I  had  lost  two  killed,  and  Mackenzie  no  less  than  five 
out  of  the  six  wibh  him.  As  for  the  survivors,  they 
were,  with  the  exception  of  myself,  who  had  never 
come  to  close  quarters,  red  from  head  to  foot — Sir 
Henry's  armor  might  have  been  painted  that  color — 
and  utterly  exhausted,  except  Umslopogaas,  who,  as 
he  stood  on  a  little  mound  above  a  heap  of  dead,  lean- 
ing, as  usual,  upon  his  axe,  did  not  seem  particularly 
distressed,  although  the  skin  over  the  hole  in  his  head 
palpitated  violently.  "Ah,  Macumazahn!"  he  said  to 
me  as  I  limped  up,  feeling  very  sick,  "I  told  thee  that  it 
would  be  a  good  fight,  and  it  has.  Never  have  I  seen  a 
better,  or  one  more  bravely  fought.  As  for  this  iron 
shirt,  surely  it  is  'tagati'  (bewitched) ;  nothing  could 
pierce  it.  Had  it  not  been  for  the  garment  I  shou'd 
have  been  there,"  and  he  nodded  towards  the  great  pile 
of  dead  men  beneath  him. 

"I  give  it  thee;  thou  art  a  gallant  man,"  said  Sir 
Henry,  briefly. 

"Koos!"  answered  the  Zulu,  deeply  pleased  both  at 
the  gift  and  the  compliment.  "Thou,  too.  Incubu,  didst 
bear  thyself  as  a  man,  but  I  must  give  thee  some  les- 
sons with  the  axe;  thou  dost  waste  thy  strength." 

Then,  bearing  such  of  the  wounded  as  could  be 
moved  at  the  moment  with  us,  we  slowly  made  our 
way  towards  the  Mission  House,  spent  with  toil  and 
bloodshed,  but  with  the  glorious  sense  of  victory 
against  overwhelming  odds  glowing  in  our  hearts.  We 
had  saved  the  life  of  the  little  maid,  and  taught  the 
Masai  of  those  parts  a  /esson  that  they  will  not  forget 
for  ten  years — ^but  at  what  a  cost! 


177 


ttoD8  istlfiW  ii2  lo  :tiBi:rioS 


^![1~^" 

/:   J/^i                                                     Xs,'' 

-iV 

■if            ' 

THE  BATTLE  OF  BEAL'  AN 
DUINE 

Sir  Walter  Scott:  From  "  The  Lady  of  the  Lake'* 


CHERE  is  no  breeze  upon  the  fern, 
No  ripple  on  the  lake, 
Upon  her  eyry  nods  the  erne, 

The  deer  has  sought  the  brake; 
The  small  birds  will  not  sing  aloud, 

The  springing  trout  lies  still, 
So  darkly  glooms  yon  thunder-cloua. 
That  swathes,  as  with  a  purple  shroud, 

Benledi's  distant  hill. 
Is  it  the  thunder's  solemn  sound 

That  mutters  deep  and  dread. 
Or  echoes  from  the  groaning  ground 

The  warrior's  measur'd  tread? 
Is  it  the  lightning's  quivering  glance 

That  on  the  thicket  streams. 
Or  do  they  flash  on  spear  and  lance 
The  sun's  retiring  beams? 
— I  see  the  dagger-crest  of  Mar, 
I  see  the  Moray's  silver  star, 
Wave  o'er  the  cloud  of  Saxon  war. 
That  up  the  lake  comes  winding  far! 
To  hero  bound  for  battle-strife, 

Or  bard  of  martial  lay, 
'Twere  worth  ten  years  of  peaceful  life. 
One  glance  at  their  array! 


i8i 


FAMOUS  TALES   OF   BATTLE,   CAMP  AND   SIEGE. 

"Their  light-arm'd  archers  far  and  near 

Survey'd  the  tangled  ground, 
Their  centre  ranks,  with  pike  and  spear. 

A  twiHght  forest  frown'd. 
Their  barbed  horsemen,  in  the  rear, 

The  stern  battaHa  crown'd. 
No  cymbal  clash'd,  no  clarion  rang, 

Still  were  the  pipe  and  drum; 
Save  heavy  tread,  and  armor's  clang. 

The  sullen  march  was  dumb. 
There  breathed  no  wind  their  crests  to  shake, 

Or  wave  their  flags  abroad; 
Scarce  the  frail  aspen  seem'd  to  quake, 

That  shadow'd  o'er  their  road. 
Their  vaward  scouts  no  tidings  bring. 

Can  rouse  no  lurking  foe, 
Nor  spy  a  trace  of  living  thing. 

Save  when  they  stirr'd  the  roe; 
The  host  moves,  like  a  deep-sea  wave. 
Where  rise  no  rocks  its  pride  to  brave, 
High-swelling,  dark  and  slow. 
The  lake  is  pass'd,  and  now  they  gain 
A  narrow  and  a  broken  plain, 
Before  the  Trosach's  rugged  jaws; 
And  here  the  horse  and  spearmen  pause, 
While,  to  explore  the  dangerous  glen. 
Dive  through  the  pass  the  archer-men. 

"At  once  there  rose  so  wild  a  yell 

Within  that  dark  and  narrow  dell. 

As  all  the  fiends,  from  heaven  that  fell, ' 

Had  peal'd  the  banner-cry  of  hell! 
Forth  from  the  pass  in  tumult  driven. 
Like  chaflf  before  the  wind  of  heaven, 
The  archery  appear; 


182 


THE  BATTLE  OF  BEAL*  AN  DUINE. 

For  life!  for  life!  their  plight  they  ply— 
And  shriek,  and  shout,  and  battle-cry, 
And  plaids  and  bonnets  waving  high, 
And  broadswords  flashing  to  the  sky, 

Are  maddening  in  the  rear. 
Onward  they  drive,  in  dreadful  race. 
Pursuers  and  pursued; 
Before  that  tide  of  flight  and  chase. 
How  shall  it  keep  its  rooted  place, 
The  spearmen's  twilight  wood?— 
'Down,  down,'  cried  Mar,  'your  lances  down! 

Bear  back  both  friend  and  foe!' 
Like  reeds  before  the  tempest's  frown, 
That  serried  grove  of  lances  brown 

At  once  lay  levell'd  low; 
And  closely  shouldering  side  to  side. 
The  bristling  ranks  the  onset  bide.— 
'We'll  quell  the  savage  mountaineer, 

As  their  Tinchel  cows  the  game! 

They  come  as  fleet  as  forest  deer. 

We'll  drive  them  back  as  tame.' 

"Bearing  before  them,  in  their  course, 
The  relics  of  the  archer  force. 
Like  wave  with  crest  of  sparkling  foam, 
Right  onward  did  Clan-Alpine  come. 
Above  the  tide,  each  broadsword  bright 
Was  brandishing  like  beam  of  light, 

Each  targe  was  dark  below; 
And  with  the  ocean's  mighty  swing, 
When  heaving  to  the  tempest's  wing. 
They  hurl'd  them  on  the  foe. 
I  heard  the  lance's  shivering  crash, 
As  when  the  whirlwind  rends  the  ash, 
I  heard  the  broadsword's  deadly  clang, 
As  if  an  hundred  anvils  rang! 

183 


FAMOUS  TALES  OF   BATTLE,   CAMP  AND   SIEGE. 

But  Moray  wheel'd  his  rearward  rank 
Of  horsemen  on  Clan-Alpine's  flank, 
— 'My  banner-man,  advance! 
I  see,'  he  cried,  'their  column  shake. — 
Now,  gallants!  for  your  ladies'  sake, 

Upon  them  with  the  lance!' — 
The  horsemen  dashed  among  the  rout, 

As  deer  break  through  the  broom; 
Their  steeds  are  stout,  their  swords  are  out, 

They  soon  make  lightsome  room. 
Clan-Alpine's  best  are  backward  borne — 

Where,  where  was  Roderick  then! 
One  blast  upon  his  bugle-horn 

Were  worth  a  thousand  men. 
And  refluent  through  the  pass  of  fear 

The  battle's  tide  was  pour'd; 
Vanish'd  the  Saxon's  struggling  spear, 

Vanish'd  the  mountain  sword. 
As  Bracklinn's  chasm,  so  black  and  steep, 

Receives  her  roaring  linn. 
As  the  dark  caverns  of  the  deep 
Suck  the  wild  whirlpool  in. 
So  did  the  deep  and  darksome  pass 
Devour  the  battle's  mingled  mass; 
None  linger  now  upon  the  plain. 
Save  those  who  ne'er  shall  fight  again. 

"Now  westward  rolls  the  battle's  din. 
That  deep  and  doubling  pass  within. 
***** 
Where  the  rude  Trosach's  dread  defile 

Opens  on  Katrine's  lake  and  isle. 
***** 
The  sun  is  set;  the  clouds  are  met, 

The  lowering  scowl  of  heaven 
An  inky  view  of  vivid  blue 
To  the  deep  lake  has  given; 


184 


* 


THE  BATTLE  OF  BEAL'  AN  DUINE. 

Strange  gusts  of  wind  from  mountain  glen 
Swept  o'er  the  lake,  then  sunk  agen. 
I  heeded  not  the  eddying  surge, 
Mine  eye  but  saw  the  Trosach's  gorge, 
Mine  ear  but  heard  the  sullen  sound. 
Which  like  an  earthquake  shook  the  ground, 
And  spoke  the  stern  and  desperate  strife 
That  parts  not  but  with  parting  life. 

!jt  *  *  *  * 

Nearer  it  comes — the  dim-wood  glen 
The  martial  flood  disgorged  agen. 

But  not  in  mingled  tide; 
The  plaided  warriors  of  the  North 
High  on  the  mountain  thunder  forth. 

And  overhang  its  side; 
While  by  the  lake  below  appears 
The  dark'ning  cloud  of  Saxon  spears. 
At  weary  bay  each  shatter'd  band, 
Eying  their  foemen,  sternly  stand; 
Their  banners  stream  like  tatter'd  sail. 
That  flings  its  fragments  to  the  gale. 
And  broken  arms  and  disarray 
Mark'd  the  fell  havoc  of  the  day. 

Again  they  hurried  to  engage; 

But,  ere  they  closed  in  desperate  fight, 

Bloody  with  spurring  came  a  knight, 

Sprung  from  his  horse,  and,  from  a  crag. 

Waved  'twixt  the  hosts  a  milk-white  flag. 

Clarion  and  trumpet  by  his  side 

Rung  forth  a  truce-note  high  and  wide, 

While,  in  the  Monarch's  name,  afar 

An  herald's  voice  forbade  the  war. 


i8s 


i 


nolIiM  nrioL  ^o  tiBitioS 


THE   REVOLT  OF  LUCIFER 

John  Milton:  From  '•^Paradise  Losf'' 


TJS  yet  this  world  was  not,  and  Chaos  wild 

•'i      Reigned   where   these   heavens    now   roll,    where 

earth  now  rests 
Upon  her  centre  poised;  when  on  a  day 

.     .     .     The  empyreal  host 
Of  Angels,  by  imperial  summons  called, 
Innumerable  before  the  Almighty's  throne 
Forthwith  from  all  the  ends  of  Heaven  appeared, 
Under  their  hierarchs  in  orders  bright. 
Ten  thousand  thousand  ensigns  high  advanced. 
Standards  and  gonfalons,  'twixt  van  and  rear, 
Stream  in  the  air,  and  for  distinction  serve 
Of  hierarchies,  of  orders,  and  degrees; 
Or  in  their  glittering  tissues  bear  emblazed 
Holy  memorials,  acts  of  zeal  and  love 
Recorded  eminent.     Thus  when  in  orbs 
Of  circuit  inexpressible  they  stood, 
Orb  within  orb,  the  Father  infinite, 
By  whom  in  bliss  embosomed  sat  the  Son. 
Amidst  as  from  a  flaming  mount,  whose  top 
Brightness  had  made  invisible,  thus  spake: 

"Hear,  all  ye  Angels,  progeny  of  light. 
Thrones,   Dominations,  Princedoms,  Virtues,   Powers, 
Hear  my  decree,  which  unrevoked  shall  stand. 
This  day  I  have  begot  whom  I  declare 

189 


1 


FAMOUS  TALES  OF   BATTLE,   CAMP  AND   SIEGE. 

My  only  Son,  and  on  this  holy  hill 

Him  have  anointed,  whom  ye  now  behold 

At  my  right-hand;  your  head  I  him  appoint; 

And  by  myself  have  sworn,  to  him  shall  bow 

All  knees  in  Heaven,  and  shall  confess  him  Lord. 

Under  his  great  vicegerent  reign  abide, 

United  as  one  individual  soul, 

Forever  happy.     Him  who  disobeys 

Me  disobeys,  breaks  union,  and  that  day. 

Cast  out  from  God  and  blessed  vision,  falls 

Into  utter  darkness,  deep  engulfed,  his  place 

Ordained  without  redemption,  without  end." 

So  spake  the  Omnipotent,  and  with  his  words 
All  seemed  well  pleased;  all  seemed,  but  were  not  all, 

Satan — so  call  him  now,  his  former  name 

Is  heard  no  more  in  Heaven — he  of  the  first, 

If  not  the  first  Archangel,  great  in  power, 

In  favor,  and  pre-eminence,  yet  fraught 

With  envy  against  the  Son  of  God,  that  day 

Honored  by  his  great  Father,  and  proclaimed 

Messiah,  King  anointed,  could  not  bear 

Through  pride  that  sight,  and  thought  himself  impaired. 

Deep  malice  thence  conceiving  and  disdain, 

Soon  as  midnight  brought  on  the  dusky  hour 

Friendliest  to  sleep  and  silence,  he  resolved 

With  all  his  legions  to  dislodge,  and  leave 

Unworshiped.  unobeyed,  the  throne  supreme. 

Contemptuous;  and  his  next  subordinate 

Awakening,  thus  to  him  in  secret  spake: 

"Sleepest  thou,  companion  dear?  what  sleep  can  close 
Thy  eyelids?  and  rememberest  what  decree. 
Of  yesterday,  so  late  hath  passed  the  lips 
Of  Heaven's  Almighty.    Thou  to  me  thy  thoughts 
Wast  wont,  I  mine  to  thee  was  wont  to  impart; 
Both  waking  we  were  one;  how  then  can  now 
Thy  sleep  dissent?     New  laws  thou  seest  imposed; 

190 


Oliver  Cromwell  Visiting  John  Milton 


^;0 


-worn,  to 


disobey 


MS  place 


.  ^    wci  c    rn.M 


:3viIO 


imposed; 


THE    REVOLT    OF    LUCIFER. 

New  laws  from  him  who  reigns  new  minds  may  raise 
In  us  who  serve,  new  counsels,  to  debate 
What  doubtful  may  ensue. — More  in  this  place 
To  utter  is  not  safe.     Assemble  thou 
Of  all  those  myriads  which  we  lead  the  chief; 
Tell  them  that  by  command,  ere  yet  dim  night 
Her  shadowy  cloud  withdraws,  I  am  to  haste, 
And  all  who  under  me  their  banners  wave, 
Homeward  with  flying  march,  where  we  possess 
The  quarters  of  the  North;  there  to  prepare 
Fit  entertainment  to  receive  our  King, 
The  great  Messiah,  and  his  new  commands. 
Who  speedily  through  all  the  hierarchies 
Intends  to  pass  triumphant,  and  give  laws." 
So  spake  the  false  Archangel,  and  infused 
Bad  influence  into  the  unwary  breast 
Of  his  associate.     He  together  calls. 
Or  several  one  by  one,  the  regent  Powers, 
Under  him  regent;  tells,  as  he  was  taught. 
That,  the  Most  High  commanding,  now  ere  night, 
Now  ere  dim  night  had  disencumbered  Heaven, 
The  great  hierarchal  standard  was  to  move; 
Tells  the  suggested  cause,  and  casts  between 
Ambiguous  words  and  jealousies,  to  sound 
Or  taint  integrity.    But  all  obeyed 
The  wonted  signal,  and  superior  voice 
Of  their  great  Potentate;  for  great  indeed 
His  name,  and  high  was  his  degree  in  Heaven. 
His  countenance,  as  the  morning  star  that  guides 
The  starry  flock,  allured  them,  and  with  lies 
Drew  after  him  the  third  part  of  Heaven's  host. 

.     .     .     There  is  a  cave 
Within  the  mount  of  God,  fast  by  his  throne, 
Where  Light  and  Darkness  in  perpetual  round 


191 


FAMOUS  TALES   OF   BATTLE,   CAMP  AND   SIEGE. 

Lodge   and   dislodge   by  turns,   which   makes   through 

Heaven 
Grateful  vicissitude,  like  day  and  night; 
Light  issues  forth,  and  at  the  other  door 
Obsequious  Darkness  enters,  till  her  hour 
To  veil  the  heaven;  though  darkness  there  might  well 
Seem  twilight  here.      And  now  went  forth  the  Morn 
Such  as  in  highest  Heaven,  arrayed  in  gold 
Empyreal;  from  before  her  vanished  Night, 
Shot  through  with  orient  beams;  when  all  the  plain, 
Covered  with  thick  embattled  squadrons  bright, 
Chariots,  and  flaming  arms,  and  fiery  steeds. 
Reflecting  blaze  on  blaze,  first  met  the  view. 

.     .     .     Present,  a  voice 
From  midst   a    golden  cloud  thus  mild  was  heard: 

"...     Go,  Michael,  of  celestial  armies  prince, 
And  thou  in  military  prowess  next, 
Gabriel,  lead  forth  to  battle  these  my  sons 
Invincible;  lead  forth  my  armed  Saints, 
By  thousands  and  by  millions,  ranged  for  fight, 
Equal  in  number  to  that  godless  crew 
Rebellious;  then  with  fire  and  hostile  arms 
Fearless  assault,  and,  to  the  brow  of  Heaven 
Pursuing,  drive  them  out  from  God  and  bliss, 
Into  their  place  of  punishment,  the  gulf 
Of  Tartarus,  which  ready  opens  wide 
His  fiery  chaos  to  receive  their  fall." 

So  spake  the  sovran  voice,  and  clouds  began 
To  darken  all  the  hill,  and  smoke  to  roll 
In  dusky  wreaths  reluctant  flames,  the  sign 
Of  wrath  awaked;  nor  with  less  dread  the  loud 
Ethereal  trumpet  from  on  high  gan  blow: 
At  which  command  the  Powers  militant, 
That  stood  for  Heaven,  in  mighty  quadrate  joined 
Of  union  irresistible,  moved  on 
In  silence  their  bright  legions,  to  the  sound 


192 


THE    REVOLT    OF    LUCIFER, 

Of  instrumental  harmony,  that  breathed 
Heroic  ardor  to  adventurous  deeds, 
Under  their  godlike  leaders,  in  the  cause 
Of  God  and  his  Messiah.    On  they  move 
Indissolubly  firm;  nor  obvious  hill, 
Nor  straitening  vale,  nor  wood,  nor  stream  divides 
Their  perfect  ranks;  for  high  above  the  ground 
Their  march  was,  and  the  passive  air  up-bore 
Their  nimble  tread.     .     .     . 

At  last 
Far  in  the  horizon  to  the  north,  appeared 
From  skirt  to  skirt  a  fiery  region  stretched 
In  battailous  aspect;  and,  nearer  view, 
Bristled  with  upright  beams  innumerable 
Of  rigid  spears,  and  helmets  thronged,  and  shields 
Various,  with  boastful  argument  portrayed. 
The  banded  Powers  of  Satan  hasting  on 
With  furious  expedition;  for  they  weened 
That  selfsame  day,  by  fight  or  by  surprise, 
To  win  the  mount  of  God,  and  on  his  throne 
To  set  the  envier  of  his  state,  the  proud 
Aspirer;  but  their  thoughts  proved  fond  and  vain, 

.     .     .     The  shout 
Of  battle  now  began,  and  rushing  sound 
Of  onset  ended  soon  each  milder  thought. 

High  in  the  midst,  exalted  as  a  God, 
The  Apostate  in  his  sun-bright  chariot  sat. 
Idol  of  majesty  divine,  enclosed 
With  flaming  Cherubim  and  golden  shields; 
Then  lighted  from  his  gorgeous  throne,  for  now 
'Twixt  host  and  host  but  narrow  space  was  left, 
A  dreadful  interval,  and  front  to  front 
Presented  stood,  in  terrible  array 
Of  hideous  length.     Before  the  cloudy  van. 
On  the  rough  edge  of  battle  ere  it  joined, 
Satan,  with  vast  and  haughty  strides  advanced, 


193 


FAMOUS  TALES  OF   BATTLE,   CAMP  AND   SIEGE. 

Came  towering,  armed  in  adamant  and  gold. 
Abdiel  that  sight  endured  not,  where  he  stood 
Amon'g  the  mightiest,  bent  on  highest  deeds. 

,     .    .     From  his  armed  peers 
Forth  stepping  opposite,  half-way  he  met 
His  daring  foe.     ...     A  noble  stroke  he  lifted  high, 
Which  hung  not,  but  so  swift  with  tempest  fell 
On  the  proud  crest  of  Satan,  that  no  sight 
Nor  motion  of  swift  thought,  less  could  his  shield 
Such  ruin  intercept.     Ten  paces  huge 
He  back  recoiled;  the  tenth  on  bended  knee 
His  massy  spear  upstayed,  as  if  on  earth 
Winds  underground,  or  waters  forcing  way, 
Sidelong  had  pushed  a  mountain  from  his  seat, 
Half-sunk  with  all  his  pines.    Amazement  seized 
The  rebel  Thrones,  but  greater  rage,  to  see 
Thus  foiled  their  mightiest;  ours  joy  filled,  and  shout, 
Presage  of  victory,  and  fierce  desire 
Of  battle;  whereat  Michael  bid  sound 
The  Archangel-trumpet.     Through  the  vast  of  Heaven 
It  sounded,  and  the  faithful  armies  rung 
Hosanna  to  the  Highest;  nor  stood  at  gaze 
The  adverse  legions,  nor  less  hideous  joined 
The  horrid  shock.     Now  storming  fury  rose, 
And  clamor  such  as  heard  in  Heaven  till  now 
Was  never;  arms  on  armor  clashing  brayed 
Horrible  discord,  and  the  madding  wheels 
Of  brazen  chariots  raged;  dire  was  the  noise 
Of  conflict;  overhead  the  dismal  hiss 
Of  fiery  darts  in  flaming  volleys  fiew, 
And  flying  vaulted  either  host  with  fire. 
So  under  fiery  cope  together  rushed 
Both  battles  main,  with  ruinous  assault 
And  inextinguishable  rage;  all  Heaven 
Resounded,  and,  had  Earth  been  then,  all  Earth 
Had  to  her  centre  shook.     What  wonder!  when 


194 


THE    REVOLT    OF    LUCIFER. 

Millions  of  fierce  encountering  Angels  fought 
On  either  side,  the  least  of  whom  could  wield 
These  elements,  and  arm  him  with  the  force 
Of  all  their  regions.     .     .     . 
.     .     .     Deeds  of  eternal  fame 
Were  done,  but  infinite;  for  wide  was  spread 
That  war  and  various;  sometimes  on  firm  ground 
A  standing  fight,  then  soaring  on  main  wing 
Tormented  all  the  air;  all  air  seemed  then 
Conflicting  fire. — Long  time  in  even  scale 
The  battle  hung;  till  Satan,  who  that  day- 
Prodigious  power  had  shewn,  and  met  in  arms 
No  equal,  ranging  through  the  dire  attack 
Of  fighting  Seraphim  confused,  at  length 
Saw  where  the  sword  of  Michael  smote,  and  felled 
Squadrons  at  once;  with  huge,  two-handed  sway- 
Brandished  aloft  the  horrid  edge  came  down. 
Wide  wasting;  such  destruction  to  withstand 
He  hasted,  and  opposed  the  rocky  orb 
Of  tenfold  adamant,  his  ample  shield, 
A  vast  circumference.     .     .     . 
Now  waved  their  fiery  swords,  and  in  the  air 
Made  horrid  circles;  two  broad  suns  their  shields 
Blazed  opposite,  while  Expectation  stood 
In  horror.     From  each  hand  with  speed  retired, 
Where  erst  was  thickest  fight,  the  angelic  throng. 
And  left  large  field,  unsafe  within  the  wind 
Of  such  commotion;  such  as,  to  set  forth 
Great  things  by  small,  if,  Nature's  concord  broke, 
Among  the  constellations  war  were  sprung, 
Two  planets,  rushing  from  aspect  malign 
Of  fiercest  opposition,  in  mid  sky 
Should  combat,  and  their  jarring  spheres  confound. 

.     .     .     But  the  sword 
Of  Michael,  from  the  armory  of  God, 
Was  given  him  tempered  so,  that  neither  keen 


195 


FAMOUS   TALES   OF   BATTLE,    CAMP   AND   SIEGE. 

Nor  solid  might  resist  that  edge;  it  met 
The  sword  of  Satan,  with  steep  force  to  smite 
Descending,  and  in  half  cut  sheer;  nor  stayed 
But,  with  steep  wheel  reverse,  deep  entermg  shared 
All  his  right  side;  then  Satan  first  knew  pain, 
And  writhed  him  to  and  fro  convolved;  so  sore 
The  griding  sword  with  discontinuous  wound 
Passed  through  him.    But  the  ethereal  substance  closed, 
Not  long  divisible;  and  from  the  gash 
A  stream  of  nectarous  humor  issuing  flowed 
Sanguine,  such  as  celestial  Spirits  may  bleed. 
And  all  his  armor  stained,  erewhile  so  bright. 
Forthwith  on  all  sides  to  his  aid  was  run 
By  Angels  many  and  strong,  who  interposed 
Defence,  while  others  bore  him  on  their  shields 
Back  to  his  chariot,  where  it  stood  retired 
From  off  the  files  of  war;  there  they  him  laid 
Gnashing  for  anguish,  and  despite,  and  shame, 
To  find  himself  not  matchless,  and  his  pride 
Humbled  by  such  rebuke,  so  far  beneath 
His  confidence  to  equal  God  in  power. 
Yet  soon  he  healed;  for  Spirits  that  live  throughout 
Vital  in  every  part,  not  as  frail  man, 
Cannot  but  by  annihilating  die; 
Nor  in  their  liquid  texture  mortal  wound 
Receive,  no  more  than  can  the  fluid  air.     .     .    . 
Meanwhile,  in  other  parts  like  deeds  deserved 
Memorial,  where  the  might  of  Gabriel  fought, 
And  with  fierce  ensigns  pierced  the  deep  array 
Of  Moloch,  furious  king,  who  him  defied, 
And  at  his  chariot-wheels  to  drag  him  bound 
Threatened,  nor  from  the  Holy  One  of  Heaven 
Refrained  his  tongue  blasphemous;  but  anon, 
Down  cloven  to  the  waist,  with  shattered  arms 
And  uncouth  pain  fled  bellowing.    On  each  wing 
Uriel  and  Raphael  his  vaunting  foe, 

196 


Milton    Dictating  "P:irnclise  Lost"  to   His   Daui'itc 


'Jeep  ent 
.  ,  ;..;.....  hrst  knev. 
ind  fro  convolved; 
■•-   -■■-     ntinuous  wiiLniu 
■  thereal  substance 


noiWtl. 


THE    REVOLT    OF    LUCIFER. 

Though  huge  and  in  a  rock  of  diamond  armed, 

Vanquished  Adramelech  and   Asmadai, 

Two  potent  Thrones,  that  to  be  less  than  Gods 

Disdained;  but  meaner  thoughts  learned  in  their  flight, 

Mangled  with  ghastly  wounds  through  plate  and  mail. 

Nor  stood  unmindful  Abdiel  to  annoy 

The  atheist  crew,  but,  with  redoubled  blow, 

Ariel,  and  Arioch,  and  the  violence 

Of  Ramiel,  scorched  and  blasted,  overthrew.     .     .     . 

And  now,  their  mightiest  quelled,  the  battle  swerved. 
With  many  an  inroad  gored;  deformed  rout 
Entered,  and  foul  disorder;  all  the  ground 
With  shivered  armor  strown,  and  on  a  heap 
Chariot  and  charioteer  lay  overturned, 
And  fiery,  foaming  steeds;  what  stood,  recoiled, 
Then,  first  with  fear  surprised  and  sense  of  pain, 
Fled  ignominious,  to  such  evil  brought 
By  sin  of  disobedience,  till  that  hour 
Not  liable  to  fear,  or  flight,  or  pain. 
Far  otherwise  the  inviola1)le  Saints, 
In  cubic  phalanx  firm,  advanced  entire. 
Invulnerable,  impenetrably  armed; 
Such  high  advantages  their  innocence 
Gave  them  above  their  foes;  not  to  have  sinned, 
Not  to  have  disobeyed;  in  fight  they  stood 
Unwearied,  unobnoxious  to  be  pained 
By  wound,  though  from  their  place  by  violence  moved. 

Now  Night  her  course  began,  and,  over  Heaven 
Inducing  darkness,  grateful  truce  imposed. 
And  silence  on  the  odious  din  of  war. 
Under  her  cloudy  covert  both  retired, 
Victor  and  vanquished.     On  the  foughten  field 
Michael  and  his  Angels  prevalent 
Encamping  placed  in  guard  their  watches  round. 
Cherubic  waving  fires;  on  the  other  part, 
Satan  with  his  rebellious  disappeared, 


197 


FAMOUS  TALES   OF   BATTLE,   CAMP  AND   SIEGE. 

Far  in  the  dark  dislodged;  and,  void  of  rest, 
His  potentates  to  council  called  by  night. 
And  in  the  midst  thus  undismayed  began: 

"O  now  in  danger  tried,  now  known  in  arms 
Not  to  be  overpowered,  companions  dear, 
Found  worthy  not  of  liberty  alone, 
Too  mean  pretence,  but  what  we  more  affect 
Honor,  dominion,  glory,  and  renown. 
Who  have  sustained  one  day  in  doubtful  fight, 
.     .     ,     Perhaps  more  valid  arms. 
Weapons  more  violent,  when  next  we  meet. 
May  serve  to  better  us  and  worse-  our  foes. 
Or  equal  what  between  us  made  the  odds. 
In  nature  none.     .     .     .     There  grow, 
Deep  underground,  materials  dark  and  crude. 
Of  spiritous  and  fiery  spume,  till,  touched 
With  Heaven's  ray  and  tempered,  they  shoot  forth 
So  beauteous,  opening  to  the  ambient  light; 
These  in  their  dark  nativity  the  deep 
Shall  yield  us,  pregnant  with  infernal  flame; 
Which  into  hollow  engines  long  and  round 
Thick  rammed,  at  the  other  bore  with  touch  of  fire 
Dilated  and  infuriate,  shall  send  forth 
From  far  with  thundering  noise  among  our  foes 
Such  implements  of  mischief,  as  shall  dash 
To  pieces,  and  o'erwhelm  whatever  stands 
Adverse,  that  they  shall  fear  we  have  disarmed 
The  Thunderer  of  his  only  dreaded  bolt. 
Nor  long  shall  be  our  labor;  yet  ere  dawn, 
Effect  shall  end  our  wish.     Meanwhile,  revive; 
Abandon  fear;  to  strength  and  counsel  joined 
Think  nothing  hard,  much  less  to  be  despaired." 

He  ended,  and  his  words  their  drooping  cheer 
Enlightened,  and  their  languished  hope  revived. 
The  invention  all  admired,  and  each  how  he 


198 


THE   REVOLT  OF   LUCIFER 

To  be  the  inventor  missed ;  so  easy  it  seemed 

Once  found,  which  yet  unfound  most  would  have  thought 

Impossible.     .     .     . 

Forthwith  from  council  to  the  work  they  flew; 
None  arguing  stood;  innumerable  hands 
Were  ready;  in  a  moment  up  they  turned 
Wide  the  celestial  soil,  and  saw  beneath 
The  originals  of  Nature  in  their  crude 
Conception;  sulphurous  and  nitrous  foam 
They  found,  they  mingled,  and,  with  subtle  art, 
Concocted  and  adusted,  they  reduced 
To  blackest  grain,  and  into  store  conveyed. 
Part  hidden  veins  digged  up — nor  hath  this  Earth 
Entrails  unlike — of  mineral  and  stone, 
Whereof  to  found  their  engines  and  their  balls 
Of  missive  ruin;  part  incentive  reed 
Provide,  pernicious  with  one  touch  to  fire. 
So  all  ere  day-spring,  under  conscious  night. 
Secret  they  finished,  and  in  order  set. 
With  silent  circumspection,  unespied. 

Now  when  fair  Morn  orient  in  Heaven  appeared. 
Up-rose  the  victor  Angels,  and  to  arms 
The  matin-trumpet  sung;  in  arms  they  stood 
Of  golden  panoply,  refulgent  host, 
Soon  banded;  others  from  the  dawning  hills 
Looked  round,  and  scouts  each  coast  light-armed  scour, 
Each  quarter,  to  descry  the  distant  foe, 
Where  lodged,  or  whither  fled,  or  if  for  fight 
In  motion  or  in  halt.     Him  soon  they  met 
Under  spread  ensigns  moving  nigh,  in  slow 
But  firm  battalion.     .     .     . 
Instant  without  disturb  they  took  alarm, 
And  onward  moved  embattled:  when  behold, 
Not  distant  far,  with  heavy  pace  the  foe 
Approaching  gross  and  huge,  in  hollow  cube 
Training  his  devilish  enginery,  impaled 


199 


FAMOUS  TALES  OF   BATTLE,   CAMP  AND   SIEGE. 

On  every  side  with  shadowing  squadrons  deep, 
To  hide  the  fraud.    At  interview  both  stood 
Awhile;  but  suddenly  at  head  appeared 
Satan,  and  thus  was  heard  commanding  loud: 

"V^anguard,  to  right  and  left!  the  front  unfold! 
That  all  may  see  who  hate  us  how  we  seek 
Peace  and  composure,  and  with  open  breast 
Stand  ready  to  receive  them,  if  they  like 
Our  overture,  and  turn  not  back  perverse.     ..." 

So  scofifing  in  ambiguous  words  he  scarce 
Had  ended,  when  to  right  and  left  the  front 
Divided,  and  to  either  flank  retired; 
Which  to  our  eyes  discovered,  new  and  strange, 
A  triple  mounted  row  of  pillars  laid 
On  wheels — for  like  to  pillars  most  they  seemed, 
Or  hollowed  bodies  made  of  oak  or  fir, 
With  branches  lopt,  in  wood  or  mountain  felled — 
Brass,  iron,  stony  mould,  had  not  their  mouths 
With  hideous  orifice  gaped  on  us  wide. 
Portending  hollow  truce.    At  each  behind 
A  Seraph  stood,  and  in  his  hand  a  reed 
Stood  waving,  tipped  with  fire;  while  we,  suspense, 
Collected  stood  within  our  thoughts  amused; 
Not  long,  for  sudden  all  at  once  their  reeds 
Put  forth,  and  to  a  narrow  vent  applied 
With  nicest  touch.     Immediate  in  a  flame 
But  soon  obscured  with  smoke,  all  Heaven  appeared. 
From  those  deep-throated  engines  belched,  whose  roar 
Embowelled  with  outrageous  noise  the  air. 
And  all  her  entrails  tore,  disgorging  foul 
Their  devilish  glut,  chained  thunderbolts  and  hail 
Of  iron  globes;  w-hich,  on  the  victor  host 
Levelled,  with  such  impetuous  fury  smote 
That  whom  they  hit  none  on  their  feet  might  stand. 
Though  standing  else  as  rocks,  but  down  they  fell 
By  thousands,  Angel  on  Archangel  rolled; 


THE    REVOLT    OF    LUCIFER. 

The  sooner  for  their  arms;  unarmed,  they  might 

Have  easily  as  Spirits  evaded  swift, 

By  quick  contraction  or  remove;  but  now 

Foul  dissipation  followed  and  forced  rout; 

Nor  served  it  to  relax  their  serried  files. 

What  should  they  do?    If  on  they  rushed,  repulse 

Repeated,  and  indecent  overthrow 

Doubled,  would  render  them  yet  more  despised, 

And  to  their  foes  a  laughter;  for  in  view 

Stood  ranked  of  Seraphim  another  row. 

In  posture  to  displode  their  second  tire 

Of  thunder:  back  defeated  to  return 

They  worse  abhorred.     Satan  beheld  their  plight. 

And  to  his  mates  thus  in  derision  called: 

"O  friends,  why  come  not  on  these  victors  proud? 
Erewhile  they  fierce  were  coming;  and  when  we, 
To  entertain  them  fair  with  open  front 
And  breast — what  could  we  more? — propounded  terms 
Of  composition,  straight  they  changed  their  minds 
Flew  ofif,  and  into  strange  vagaries  fell.     ..." 

So  they  among  themselves  in  pleasant  vein 
Stood  scoffing,  highthened  in  their  thoughts  beyond 
All  doubt  of  victory;  Eternal  Might 
To  match  with  their  inventions  they  presumed 
So  easy,  and  of  his  thunder  made  a  scorn. 
And  all  his  host  derided,  while  they  stood 
Awhile  in  trouble.     But  they  stood  not  long; 
Rage  prompted  them  at  length,  and  found  them  arms 
Against  such  hellish  mischief  fit  to  oppose. 
Forthwith — behold  the  excellence,  the  power, 
Which  God  hath  in  his  mighty  Angels  placed! — 
Their  arms  away  they  threw,  and  to  the  hills 
Light  as  the  lightning-glimpse,  they  ran,  they  flew; 
From  their  foundations  loosening  to  and  fro 
They  plucked  the  seated  hills,  with  all  their  load, 
Rocks,  waters,  woods,  and  by  their  shaggy  tops 


201 


FAMOUS   TALES   OF   BATTLE,   CAMP  AND  SIEGE. 

Uplifting  bore  them  in  their  hands.     Amaze, 

Be  sure,  and  terror  seized  the  rebel  host. 

When  coming  toward  them  so  dread  they  saw 

The  bottom  of  the  mountains  upward  turned; 

Till  on  those  cursed  engines'  triple  row 

They  saw  them  whelmed,and  all  their  confidence 

Under  the  weight  of  mountains  buried  deep; 

Themselves  invaded  next,  and  on  their  heads 

Main  promontories  flung,  which  in  the  air 

Came  shadowing,  and  oppressed  whole  legions  armed. 

Their  armor  helped  their  harm,  crushed-in  and  bruised 

Into  their  substance  pent,  which  wrought  them  pain 

Implacable,  and  many  a  dolorous  groan, 

Long  struggling  underneath,  ere  they  could  wind 

Out  of  such  prison;  though  Spirits  of  purest  light, 

Purest  at  first,  now  gross  by  sinning  grown. 

The  rest,  in  imitation,  to  like  arms 

Betook  them,  and  the  neighboring  hills  up-tore; 

So  hills  amid  the  air  encountered  hills. 

Hurled  to  and  fro  with  jaculation  dire, 

That  underground  they  fought  in  dismal  shade; 

Infernal  noise;  war  seemed  a  civil  game 

To  this  uproar;  horrid  confusion  heaped 

Upon  confusion  rose.      And  now  all  Heaven 

Had  gone  to  wrack,  with  ruin  overspread. 

Had  not  the  Almighty  Father,  where  he  sits 

Shrined  in  his  sanctuary  of  Heaven  foreseen 

This  tumult,  and  permitted  all,  advised. 

That  his  great  purpose  he  might  so  fulfill, 

To  honor  his  anointed  Son  avenged 

Upon  his  enemies,  and  to  declare 

All  power  on  him  transferred.    Whence  to  his  Son, 

The  assessor  of  his  throne,  he  thus  began: 

"Effulgence  of  my  glory.   Son  beloved     .... 
Second  Omnipotence!  two  days  are  past. 
Two  days,  as  we  compute  the  days  of  Heaven, 


202 


THE    REVOLT    OF    LUCIFER. 

Since  Michael  and  his  powers  went  forth  to  tame 
These  disobedient.     Sore  hath  been  their  fight, 
As  likeliest  was  when  two  such  foes  met  armed: 

War  wearied  hath  performed  what  War  can  do, 

And  to  disordered  Rage  let  loose  the  reins, 

With  mountains  as  with  weapons  armed,  which  makes 

Wild  work  in  Heaven,  and  dangerous  to  the  main. 

Two  days  are  therefore  past,  the  third  is  thine; 

For  thee  I  have  ordained  it,  and  thus  far 

Have  suffered,  that  the  glory  may  be  thine 

Of  ending  this  great  war,  since  none  but  thou 

Can  end  it.     Into  thee  such  virtue  and  grace 

Immense  I  have  transfused,  that  all  may  know 

In  Heaven  and  Hell  thy  power  above  compare. 

Go,  then,  thou  Mightiest,  in  thy  Father's  might, 
Ascend  my  chariot,  guide  the  rapid  wheels 
That  shake  Heaven's  basis;  bring  forth  all  my  war. 
My  bow  and  thunder,  my  almighty  arms 
Gird  on,  and  sword  upon  thy  puissant  thigh; 
Pursue  these  sons  of  darkness,  drive  them  out 
From  all  Heaven's  bounds  into  the  utter  Deep: 
There  let  them  learn,  as  likes  them,  to  despise 
God  and  Messiah  his  anointed  King." 

"...     The  third  sacred  morn  began  to  shine. 
Dawning  through  Heaven.     Forth  rushed  with  whirl- 
wind-sound 
The  chariot  of  Paternal  Deity, 

Flashing  thick  flames,  wheel  within  wheel,  undrawn, 
Itself  instinct  with  spirit,  but  convoyed 
By  four  cherubic  shapes.     Four  faces  each 
Had  wondrous;  as  with  stars  their  bodies  all 
And  wings  were  set  with  eyes,  with  eyes  the  wheels 
Of  beryl,  and  careering  fires  between; 
Over  their  heads  a  crystal  firmament. 


203 


FAMOUS  TALES  OF   BATTLE.   CAMP  AND   SIEGE. 

Whereon  a  sapphire  throne,  inlaid  with  pure 

Amber  and  colors  of  the  showery  arch. 

He  in  celestial  panoply  all  armed 

Of  radiant  Urim,  work  divinely  wrought, 

Ascended;  at  his  right  hand  Victory 

Sat  eagle-winged;  beside  him -hung  his  bow 

And  quiver,  with  three-bolted  thunder  stored. 

And  from  about  him  fierce  effusion  rolled 

Of  smoke,  and  bickering  flame,  and  sparkles  dire. 

Attended  with  ten  thousand  thousand  Saints, 

He  onward  came;  far  ofT  his  coming  shone; 

And  twenty  thousand — I  their  number  heard — 

Chariots  of  God,  half  on  each  hand,  were  seen. 

He  on  the  wings  of  Cherub  rode  sublime, 

On  the  crystalline  sky,  in  sapphire  throned. 

Illustrious  far  and  wide,  but  by  his  own 

First  seen;  them  unexpected  Joy  surprised. 

When  the  great  ensign  of  Messiah  blazed,  ' 

Aloft  by  Angels  borne,  his  sign  in  Heaven; 

Under  whose  conduct  Michael  soon  reduced 

His  army,  circumfused  on  either  wing. 

Under  their  Head  embodied  all  in  one. 

Before  him  Power  divine  his  way  prepared; 

At  his  command  the  uprooted  hills  retired. 

Each  to  his  place;  they  heard  his  voice  and  went 

Obsequious;  Heaven  his  wonted  face  renewed. 

And  with  fresh  flowerets  hill  and  valley  smiled. 

This  saw  his  hapless  foes,  but  stood  obdured. 

And  to  rebellious  fight  rallied  their  Powers, 

Insensate,  hope  conceiving  from  despair; 

In  heavenly  Spirits  could  such  perverseness  dwell? 

But  to  convince  the  proud  what  signs  avail, 

Or  wonders  move  the  obdurate  to  relent? 

They,  hardened  more  by  what  might  most  reclaim. 

Grieving  to  see  his  glory,  at  the  sight 

Took  envy;  and,  aspiring  to  his  highth, 


204 


■      THE    REVOLT    OF    LUCIFER. 

Stood  re-imbattled  fierce,  by  force  or  fraud 

Weening  to  prosper,  and  at  length  prevail 

Against  God  and  Messiah,  or  to  fall 

In  universal  ruin  last;  and  now 

To  final  battle  drew,  disdaining  flight. 

Or  faint  retreat;  when  the  great  Son  of  God 

To  all  his  host  on  either  hand  thus  spake: 

"Stand  still  in  bright  array,  ye  Saints;  here  stand, 
Ye  Angels  armed;  this  day  from  battle  rest. 
Faithful  hath  been  your  warfare,  and  of  God 
Accepted,  fearless  in  his  righteous  cause; 
And  as  ye  have  received,  so  have  ye  done. 
Invincibly;  but  of  this  cursed  crew 
The  punishment  to  other  hand  belongs; 
Vengeance  is  his,  or  whose  he  sole  appoints. 
Number  to  this  day's  work  is  not  ordained. 
Nor  multitude;  stand  only,  and  behold 
God's  indignation  on  these  godless  poured 
By  me;  not  you,  but  me,  they  have  despised. 
Yet  envied;  against  me  is  all  their  rage. 
Because  the  Father,  to  whom,  in  Heaven  supreme, 
Kingdom,  and  power,  and  glory  appertains. 
Hath  honored  me.  according  to  his  will. 
Therefore  to  me  their  doom  he  hath  assigned; 
That  they  may  have  their  wish,  to  try  with  me 
In  battle  which  the  stronger  proves;  they  all. 
Or  I  alone  against  them;  since  by  strength 
They  measure  all,  of  other  excellence 
Not  emulous,  nor  care  who  them  e.xcels; 
Nor  other  strife  with  them  do  I  vouchsafe." 

So  spake  the  Son,  and  into  terror  changed 
His  countenance,  too  severe  to  be  beheld, 
And  full  of  wrath  bent  on  his  enemies. 
.A.t  once  the  Four  spread  out  their  starry  wings, 
With  dreadful  shade  contiguous,  and  tlie  orbs 
Of  his  fierce  chariot  rolled,  as  with 


205 


FAMOUS  TALES   OF  BATTLE,   CAMP  AND   SIEGE. 

Of  torrent  floods,  or  of  a  numerous  host. 

He  on  his  impious  foes  right  onward  drove, 

Gloomy  as  night;  under  his  burning  wheels 

The  steadfast   Empyrean  shook  throughout, 

All  but  the  throne  itself  of  God.      Full  soon 

Among  them  he  arrived,  in  his  right  hand 

Grasping  ten  thousand  thunders,  which  he  sent 

Before  him.  such  as  in  their  souls  infixed 

Plagues;  they,  astonished,  all  resistance  lost, 

All  courage;  down  their  idle  weapons  dropt; 

O'er  shields,  and  helms,  and  helmed  heads  he  rode 

Of  Thrones  and  mighty  Seraphim  prostrate, 

That  wished  the  mountains  now  might  be  again 

Thrown  on  them,  as  a  shelter  from  his  ire. 

Nor  less  on  either  side  tempestuous  fell 

His  arrows,  from  the  fourfold-visaged  Four 

Distinct  with  eyes,  and  from  the  living  wheels 

Distinct  alike  with  multitude  of  eyes; 

One  spirit  in  them  ruled,  and  every  eye 

Glared  lightning,  and  shot  forth  pernicious  fire 

Among  the  accursed,  that  withered  all  their  strength 

And  of  their  wonted  vigor  left  them  drained. 

Exhausted,  spiritless,  afiflicted,  fallen. 

Yet  half  his  strength  he  put  not  forth,  but  checked 

His  thunder  in  mid-volley;  for  he  meant 

Not  to  destroy,  but  root  them  out  of  Heaven. 

The  overthrown  he  raised,  and,  as  a  herd 

Of  goats  or  timorous  flock,  together  thronged, 

Drove  them  before  him  thunderstruck,  pursued 

With  terrors  and  with  furies,  to  the  bounds 

And  crystal  wall  of  Heaven,  which,  opening  wide, 

Rolled  inward,  and  a  spacious  gap  disclosed 

Into  the  wasteful  Deep.      The  monstrous  sight 

Struck  them  with  horror  backward,  but  far  worse 

Urged  them  behind;  headlong  themselves  they  threw 

206 


THE    REVOLT    OF    LUCIFER 

Down  from  the  verge  of  Heaven;  eternal  wrath 
Burnt  after  them  to  the  bottomless  pit. 

Hell  heard  the  unsuflferable  noise,  Hell  saw 
Heaven  ruining  from  Heaven,  and  would  have  fled 
Affrighted;  but  strict  Fate  had  cast  too  deep 
Her  dark  foundations,  and  too  fast  had  bound. 
Nine  days  they  fell;  confounded  Chaos  roared, 
And  felt  tenfold  confusion  in  their  fall 
Through  his  wild  anarchy,  so  huge  a  rout 
Encumbered  him  with  ruin;  Hell  at  last 
Yawning  received  them  whole,  and  on  them  closed; 
Hell,  their  fit  habitation,  fraught  with  fire 
Unquenchable,  the  house  of  woe  and  pain. 
Disburdened  Heaven  rejoiced,  and  soon  repaired 
Her  mural  breach,  returning  whence  it  rolled. 
Sole  victor,  from  the  expulsion  of  his  foes, 
Messiah  his  triumphal  chariot  turned. 
To  meet  him  all  his  Saints,  who  silent  stood 
Eye-witnesses  of  his  almighty  acts. 
With  jubilee  advanced;  and  as  they  went. 
Shaded  with  branching  palm,  each  Order  bright. 
Sung  triumph,  and  him  sung  victorious  King, 
Son,  Heir,  and  Lord,  to  him  dominion  given. 
Worthiest  to  reign.     He  celebrated  rode 
Triumphant  through  mid-Heaven,  into  the  courts 
And  temple  of  his  mighty  Father  throned 
On  high;  who  into  glory  him  received, 
Where  now  he  sits,  at  the  right  hand  of  bliss. 


207 


A  PICTURE  OF  WAR 

From  Mac  Gahan's  Campaigning  on  the  Oxus 
Copyright,  1874,  by  Harper  b^  Brothers 

Vol.  I— 17 

i 


A  PICTURE  OF  WAR 

/.  A.  Mac  Gahan 


CHE  Yomuds,  whom  Kaufman  had  decided  to  at- 
tack, are  by  far  the  most  numerous  and  powerful 
tribe  of  Turcomans.  They  number  ii.ooo  kibitkas,  as 
many  as  the   five  other  tribes  together. 

On  the  19th  of  July,  five  weeks  after  the  fall  of  Khiva, 
a  force,  under  Major-General  Golovatchofif,  composed 
of  eight  companies  of  infantry,  eight  sotnias  of  Cos- 
sacks, ten  guns — including  two  mitrailleurs — and  a  bat- 
tery of  rockets,  was  advanced  from  Khiva  to  Hazavat, 
where  the  Yomud  country  commences. 

The  houses  were  all  deserted.  Not  a  single  piece  of 
furniture  was  left  in  the  rooms,  and  the  farm-yards  were 
equally  bare;  not  a  chick  nor  a  child  was  to  be  seen. 
In  some  of  the  houses  the  fires  were  still  smouldering — 
clear  proof  that  the  flight  of  the  inhabitants  was  very 
recent. 

At  this  point  the  General  halted  the  vanguard,  and 
waited  until  the  whole  army  got  up.  The  Cossacks 
separated  from  the  rest  of  the  troops,  and  scattered 
themselves  all  over  the  country,  while  the  infantry 
continued  its  march  along  the  road.  Soon,  and  un- 
expectedly, the  meaning  of  this  movement  was  revealed 
lo  me. 

I  was  still  musing  on  the  quietness  and  desolation  of 
the  scene,  when  all  at  once  I  was  startled  by  a  sharp 


FAMOUS  TALES  OF   BATTLE,   CAMP  AND   SIEGE. 

crackling  sound  behind  me.  Looking  round,  I  beheld 
a  long  tongue  of  flame  darting  upward  from  the  roof 
of  the  house  into  which  I  had  just  been  peering,  and 
another  from  the  stack  of  nicely-gathered  unthreshed 
wheat  near  it.  The  dry  straw-thatched  roof  flashed  up 
like  powder,  and  the  ripe  wheat-straw  burned  almost 
as  readily.  Huge  volumes  of  dense  black  smoke  rose 
out  of  the  trees  in  every  direction,  and  rolled  overhead 
in  dark  ominous-looking  clouds,  colored  by  the  fiery 
glare  from  the  flames  below.  I  spurred  my  horse  to 
the  top  of  a  little  eminence,  and  gazed  about  me.  It 
was  a  strange,  wild  spectacle.  In  an  incredibly  short 
space  of  time  flames  and  smoke  had  spread  on  either 
side  to  the  horizon,  and,  advancing  steadily  forward  in 
the  direction  of  our  course,  slowly  enveloped  every- 
thing. Through  this  scene  moved  the  Cossacks  like 
spectres.  Torch  in  hand,  they  dashed  swiftly  across 
the  country,  leaping  ditches  and  flying  over  walls  like 
very  demons,  and  leaving  behind  them  a  trail  of  flame 
and  smoke.  They  rarely  dismounted,  but  simply  rode 
up  to  the  houses,  applied  their  blazing  torches  to  the 
projecting  eaves  of  thatch,  and  the  stacks  of  unthreshed 
grain,  and  then  galloped  on.  Five  minutes  afterwards, 
sheets  of  seething  flame  and  darkling  smoke  showed 
hov/  well  they  had  done  their  work.  The  entire  coun- 
try was  on  fire. 

It  was  a  sad,  sad  sight — a  terrible  spectacle  of  war 
at  its  destructive  work,  strangely  in  keeping  with  this 
strange  wild  land! 

We  moved  slowly  along  the  narrow  winding  road, 
the  flames  and  smoke  accompanying  us  on  either  flank, 
until  about  noon,  when  the  vanguard  reported  the  flying 
inhabitants  in  sight;  a  body  of  men  on  horseback  had 
halted  to  parley  with  the  advance-guard.  When  asked 
what  they  wanted,  they  replied,  that  they  wished  to 
know  why  the  Russians  were  invading  their  country. 


I 


A   PICTURE    OF   WAR. 

They  had  never  made  war  on  the  Russians;  why  were 
the  Russians  making  war  on  them? 

The  guard  invited  them  to  go  to  General  Golovat- 
choff,  who  would  listen  to  their  complaints;  but,  de- 
clining this  offer,  they  launched  forth  into  a  torrent  of 
threats.  "We  are,"  they  said,  "many  thousands,  and  ii 
the  Russians  overrun  our  country,  severe  shall  be  their 
punishment."  And  they  were,  they  said,  determined  to 
fight.  As  this  was  all  the  Russians  wanted,  there  was 
nothing  more  to  be  said,  and  they  galloped  off  to  rejoin 
their  flying  companions. 

The  Russian  cavalry  was  only  too  eager  to  give  chase. 
Several  times  the  officer  in  command  of  the  advance- 
guard  sent  back  a  messenger  asking  for  permission  to 
begin  the  attack.  General  Golovatchoff  hesitated  a 
long  time,  however,  before  issuing  the  order,  with  the 
motive,  as  it  appeared  to  me,  of  giving  the  Turcomans 
a  chance  to  escape.  Among  them  were  women  and 
children  in  great  numbers,  and  these  he  would,  I  think, 
have  gladly  spared. 

At  length  they  were  reported  turning  off  into  the 
desert,  where  they  might  laugh  at  our  pursuit;  and  if 
the  attack  was  to  be  made,  it  must  be  done  instantly. 
The  order  was  at  last  given  for  the  Cossacks  to  pursue 
the  fugitives.  As  soon  as  I  heard  the  order,  I  gal- 
loped forward  to  the  head  of  the  column.  The  troops 
were  just  on  the  edge  of  the  desert,  drawn  up  in  double 
lines,  each  sotnia  with  its  colors  flying  in  the  wind: 
horses  and  men  alike  were  eager  for  the  fray.  About 
two  miles  away  to  the  south,  just  disappearing  over  the 
summit  of  a  long,  high,  sandy  ridge,  were  the  flying 
Turcomans,  an  undistinguishable  mass  of  men,  women. 
and  children,  horses,  camels,  sheep,  goats,  and  cattle, 
all  rushing  forward  in  wild  frightened  confusion.  There 
are  two  or  three  thousand,  perhaps,  in  all — merely  a 
detachment  of  laggards  from  the  main  body,  which  is  a 


213 


FAMOUS  TALES  OF  BATTLE,   CAMP  AND   SIEGE. 

few  miles  farther  on.  In  two  or  three  minutes  they  had 
disappeared  over  the  brow  of  the  hill,  and  were  lost  to 
view. 

Six  sotnias  of  Cossacks  were  selected  to  pursue  the 
enemy.  Riding  along  in  front  of  their  line,  I  catch 
sight  of  Prince  Eugene,  who  welcomes  me  to  the  front 
with  a  hearty  shake  of  the  hand,  and  kindly  puts  me  in 
one  of  his  squadrons,  as  a  good  point  of  observation. 

The  order  to  advance  is  passed  along  the  line,  and  in 
another  moment  we  are  dashing  over  the  desert  at  a 
gallop.  Ten  minutes  bring  us  to  the  summit  of  the  hill, 
over  which  we  had  seen  the  fugitives  disapper;  and  we 
perceive  them  a  mile  farther  on,  crossing  another  low 
ridge.  Already  the  body  has  ceased  to  be  compact. 
Sheep  and  goats  scatter  themselves  unheeded  in  every 
direction;  the  ground  is  strewed  with  the  effects  that 
have  been  abandoned  in  the  hurried  flight — bundles 
thrown  from  the  backs  of  camels,  carts,  from  which  the 
horses  have  been  cut  loose,  and  crowds  of  stragglers 
struggling  wearily  along,  separated  from  friends,  and 
rapidly  closed  in  upon  by  foes. 

Down  the  little  descent  we  plunge,  our  horses  sink- 
ing to  their  knees  in  the  yielding  sand,  and  across  the 
plain  we  sweep  like  a  tornado. 

Then  there  are  shouts  and  cries,  a  scattering  dis- 
charge of  firearms,  and  our  lines  are  broken  by  the 
abandoned  carts,  and  our  progress  impeded  by  the 
cattle  and  sheep  that  are  running  wildly  about  over  the 
plain.  It  is  a  scene  of  the  wildest  confusion.  I  halt 
a  moment  to  look  about  me.  Here  is  a  Turcoman  ly- 
ing in  the  sand,  with  a  bullet  through  his  head;  a  little 
farther  on,  a  Cossack  stretched  out  on  the  ground,  with 
a  horrible  sabre  cut  on  the  face;  then  two  women,  with 
three  or  four  children,  sitting  down  in  the  sand,  crying 
and  sobbing  piteously,  and  begging  for  their  lives;  to 
these  I  shout  "Aman,  Aman,"  "Peace,  peace,"  as  I  gal- 


214 


The  Soldier's  Dream 


■nrkn  \^-crr  :d!»ctei! 


I 


A   PICTURE   OF   WAR. 

lop  by,  to  allay  their  fears.  A  little  farther  on,  more 
arbas  or  carts,  carpets,  and  bed  coverlets,  scattered 
about  with  sacks  full  of  grain,  and  huge  bags  and 
bundles,  cooking  utensils,  and  all  kinds  of  household 
goods. 

Then  more  women  toiling  wearily  forward,  carrying 
infants,  and  weeping  bitterly;  and  one  very  fat  old 
woman,  scarcely  able  to  carry  herself,  with  a  child  in 
her  arms,  which  I  somehow  take  for  her  grandchild. 
Then  camels,  sheep,  goats,  cattle,  donkeys,  cows,  calves, 
and  dogs,  each  after  its  fashion  contributing  to  the 
wild  scene  of  terror. 

I  am  at  first  shocked  at  the  number  of  Turcomans  I 
see  lying  motionless.  I  can't  help  thinking  that  if  all 
these  be  killed,  there  are  no  such  deadly  marksmen  as 
the  Cossacks.  After  a  while,  however,  the  mystery  is 
explained;  for  I  perceive  one  of  the  apparently  dead 
Turcomans  cautiously  lift  his  head,  and  immediately 
after  resume  his  perfectly  motionless  position.  Many 
of  them  are  feigning  death,  and  well  it  is  for  them  the 
Cossacks  have  not  discovered  the  trick. 

Delayed  somewhat  by  the  contemplation  of  these 
scenes,  I  perceive  that  I  am  left  behind,  and  again 
hurry  forward.  Crossing  a  little  ridge,  I  behold  my 
sotnia  galloping  along  the  edge  of  a  narrow  marsh,  and 
discharging  their  arms  at  the  Turcomans,  who  are 
already  on  the  other  side,  hurriedly  ascending  another 
gentle  slope.  I  follow  down  to  the  marsh,  passing  two 
or  three  dead  bodies  on  the  way.  In  the  marsh  are 
twenty  or  thirty  women  and  children,  up  to  their  necks 
in  water,  trying  to  hide  among  the  weeds  and  grass, 
begging  for  their  lives,  and  screaming  in  the  most  piti-' 
ful  manner.  The  Cossacks  have  already  passed,  paying 
no  attention  to  them.  One  villainous-looking  brute, 
however,  had  dropped  out  of  the  ranks,  and  levelling 
his  piece  as  he  sat  on  his  horse,  deliberately  took  aim 


215 


FAMOUS  TALES   OF   BATTLE,   CAMP   AND   SIEGE. 

at  the  screaming  group,  and  before  I  could  stop  him 
pulled  the  trigger.  Fortunately  the  gun  missed  fire, 
and  before  he  could  renew  the  cap,  I  rode  up,  and  cut- 
ting him  across  the  face  with  my  riding-whip,  ordered 
him  to  his  sotnia.  He  obeyed  instantly,  without  a  mur- 
mur; and  shouting  "Aman"  to  the  poor  demented 
creatures  in  the  water,  I  followed  him. 

A  few  yards  farther  on  there  are  four  Cossacks  around 
a  Turcoman.  He  has  already  been  beaten  to  his  knees, 
and  weapon  he  has  none.  To  the  four  sabres  that  are 
hacking  at  him  he  can  offer  only  the  resistance  of  his 
arms;  but  he  utters  no  word  of  entreaty.  It  is  terrible. 
Blow  after  blow  they  shower  down  on  his  head  with- 
out avail,  as  though  their  sabres  were  tin.  Will  they 
never  have  done?  is  there  no  pith  in  their  arms?  At 
last,  after  what  seems  an  age  to  me,  he  falls  prone  in 
the  water,  with  a  terrible  wound  in  the  neck,  and  the 
Cossacks  gallop  on.  A  moment  later  I  come  upon  a 
woman,  sitting  by  the  side  of  the  water,  silently  weep- 
ing over  the  dead  body  of  her  husband.  Suddenly,  my 
horse  gives  a  leap  that  almost  unseats  me,  my  ears 
stunned  with  a  sharp,  shrieking,  rushing  noise,  and, 
looking  up,  I  behold  a  streak  of  fire  darting  across  the 
sky,  which  explodes  at  last  among  the  fugitives.  It  is 
only  a  rocket,  but  it  is  followed  by  another,  and  an- 
other; and,  mingled  with  the  shrieks  of  women  and 
children,  the  hoarse  shout  of  the  Cossacks,  bleating  of 
sheep  and  goats,  and  howling  of  cattle  running  wildly 
over  the  plain,  made  up  a  very  pandemonium  of  terror. 
This  lasted  a  few  minutes. 

Then  the  Turcomans  gradually  disappeared  over  an- 
other ridge,  some  in  this  direction,  and  some  in  that, 
and  bugle-call  sounds  the  signal  for  the  reassembling  of 
the  troops.  As  we  withdrew,  I  looked  in  vain  for  the 
women  and  children  I  had  seen  in  the  water.  They 
had  all  disappeared;  and  as  I  saw  them  nowhere  in  the 

216 


A   PICTURE   OF   WAR. 

vicinity,  I  am  afraid  that,  frightened  by  the  rockets, 
they  threw  themselves  into  the  water,  and  were 
drowned.  It  was  all  the  more  pitiable,  as,  with  the  ex- 
ception of  the  case  I  have  mentioned,  there  was  no 
violence  offered  to  women  and  children.  I  even  saw  a 
young  Cossack  officer,  Baron  Krudner,  punishing  one 
of  his  own  men  with  his  sword  for  having  tried  to  kill 
a  woman. 

The  roll  having  been  called,  search  was  made  for  the 
wounded,  and  the  doctors  immediately  attended  to  the 
injuries  of  those  who  were  found.  A  boy,  thirteen  or 
fourteen  years  of  age,  was  picked  up  with  a  dangerous 
sabre  cut  in  the  head.  He  was  accompanied  by  his 
mother,  who  was  distracted  with  grief,  and  watched  the 
doctor  dressing  the  wound  with  wild,  eager  eyes.  To 
her  primitive  ideas,  it  was  scarcely  credible  that  the 
same  people  should  first  try  to  kill,  and  then  try  to  cure 
her  son.  When  the  wound  had  been  carefully  dressed, 
and  the  doctor  had  assured  her  that  the  child  would  not 
die,  she  seized  his  hand  and  kissed  it  with  a  burst  of 
grateful  tears. 

For  awhile  we  rested  our  horses;  then  detaching  a 
number  of  Cossacks  to  drive  in  the  captured  sheep  and 
cattle,  some  2,000  in  number,  we  started  off  for  the 
camp.  Many  a  look  we  cast  behind,  for  there  stood 
in  the  midst  of  the  vast  desert  a  sight  that  our  eyes 
unwillingly  lost  sight  of.  It  was  this  mother,  who  sat 
watching  with  her  daughter  over  the  wounded  boy. 
Around  her  lay  the  wreck  of  all  her  worldly  wealth; 
possibly  not  far  away  the  dead  body  of  her  husband; 
and  disappearing  in  the  far  distance  were  the  routed 
ranks  of  her  nation.  So  she  stood  a  picture  of  ruin 
and  despair. 

We  lay  here  all  day  inactive.  General  Golovatchoff. 
as  it  appeared,  towards  evening,  was  collecting  informa- 
tion as  to  where  the  mass  of  the  Turcomans  had  taken 


217 


FAMOUS  TALES   OF   BATTLE,   CAMP  AND   SIEGE. 

refuge,  preparatory  to  making  an  attack  upon  them. 
After  dark  it  began  to  be  whispered  about  the  camp- 
fires  that  we  were  to  march  out  before  dayHght  next 
morning,  and  attack  and  surprise  the  enemy  in  their 
camp,  only  six  or  seven  miles  distant.  About  ten 
o'clock  the  rumor  was  confirmed  by  an  ofificial  order, 
which  was  passed  round.  The  baggage  was  to  be  left 
behind  under  a  guard,  and  we  were  to  march  at  one 
in  the  morning. 

The  Turcomans,  it  was  said,  were  on  the  other  side 
of  Iliali,  some  five  or  six  miles  distant,  and  were  going 
to  make  a  stand. 

About  eleven  o'clock,  when  everybody  was  going  to 
sleep,  an  alarm  was  sounded,  some  shots  were  fired, 
and  we  rushed  to  arms,  in  the  momentary  expectation 
of  an  attack.  All  became  quiet,  however,  and  the 
picket  reported  he  had  seen  a  black  form  creeping  up 
in  the  darkness,  and  had  fired.  Nothing  further  ap- 
pearing, we  all  lay  down  again  to  snatch  a  hasty  nap. 
Again  we  were  aroused  a  little  before  one  o'clock  by 
a  shot  and  a  wild  terrified  cry,  that  brought  us  to  our 
feet  like  an  electric  shock.  There  is  another  rush  to 
arms,  a  moment's  confusion,  every  man  gains  his  place, 
and  then  all  is  silence — we  are  awaiting  the  attack. 
This  time  it  is  not  a  false  alarm,  as  the  picket  had  fired 
upon  something  very  near  him  in  the  darkness,  and 
then  picked  up  a  sabre — very  good  proof  that  some  of 
the  enemy  were  prowling  around. 

This  decided  General  Golovatchofif  not  to  march  at 
one,  as  was  originally  intended,  but  to  wait  until  three, 
just  before  break  of  day. 

Accordingly,  about  three  we  are  aroused  by  the  re- 
veille; our  baggage  is  packed,  and  all  placed  within  a 
hollow  square  formed  by  the  arbas,  of  which  there  are 
200,  and  left  under  a  guard  of  300  men.  This  having 
been  accomplished,  with  no  little  confusion  in  the  dark- 

218 


A   PICTURE   OF   WAR, 

ness,  the  General,  with  his  staff,  mounted  and  took  up 
his  station  just  outside  the  camp,  to  wait  for  the  infan- 
try to  file  out  under  his  eyes. 

It  should  be  remembered  that  we  were  in  the  same 
place  in  which  the  little  affair  of  two  days  before  oc- 
curred; and  we  were  about  to  march  out  on  the  open 
plain  to  the  west,  in  the  direction  of  Iliali,  as  preferable 
to  following  in  the  darkness  the  more  direct  road 
through  the  gardens.  The  faintest  streak  of  day  could 
be  seen  in  the  east,  but  towards  the  west,  in  the  direc- 
tion we  are  marching,  the  darkness  is  black  and  im- 
penetrable. There  is  something  curious  in  the  air,  a 
kind  of  strange  agitation  almost  electric,  which 
makes  one  somehow  feel  that  there  is  going  to  be  a 
storm.  A  white  horse,  broken  loose,  rushed  madly 
about  here  and  there  through  the  lines  in  a  wild, 
absurd,  crazy  way — an  incident  I  remembered  after- 
wards with  a  curious  interest. 

The  cavalry  has  already  passed  out  on  the  plain,  and 
is  probably  half  a  mile  distant;  the  infantry  are  just 
forming  in  marching  order  under  the  eyes  of  the  Gen- 
eral; two  or  three  of  us  are  discussing  the  probability 
of  taking  the  Turcomans  by  surprise,  when  all  at  once 
a  wild  fierce  yell,  a  horrid  confused  sound  of  frightened 
shouts,  scattering  shots,  and  a  trampling  rush  of  horses, 
breaks  upon  our  startled  ears.  Everywhere — before, 
behind,  around — the  air  is  filled  with  the  wild  revengeful 
yell,  the  plain  alive  with  the  Turcomans.  Our  expecta- 
tions of  a  surprise  are  fulfilled  in  a  somewhat  unex- 
pected manner. 

Then  there  is  an  irregular  discharge  of  firearms,  that 
flashes  up  like  lightning,  then  a  long  hissing  streak  of 
fire,  that  rends  the  darkness  with  a  fearful,  crashing, 
nerve-shaking  sound,  and  explodes  with  a  murderous 
report;  then  bouquets  of  blue,  green,  and  red  flame, 
that  leap  up  and  disappear;  then  more  streaks  of  fire. 


219 


FAMOUS  TALES  OF  BATTLE.   CAMP  AND   SIEGE. 

the  •whizzing  of  bullets,  the  trampling  of  frightened 
horses,  and  the  occasional  gleam  of  sabres. 

For  a  moment  we  sit  spell-bound  in  our  saddles,  too 
much  amazed  to  do  anything  but  gaze  in  dumb  aston- 
ishment. 

General  Golovatchofif  gives  a  hurried  order  for  the 
infantry  and  artillery  to  advance;  and  the  next  moment 
we  are  dashing  through  the  darkness  after  him,  without 
knowing  whither  we  are  going.  In  an  instant  we  are 
in  the  midst  of  the  combatants.  By  this  time  the 
rockets  have  ceased,  partly  because,  being  damaged, 
they  often  exploded  in  the  hands  of  the  gunners;  partly 
because  the  Turcomans  are  so  close,  that  at  the  lowest 
angle  at  which  they  could  be  fired,  they  passed  over  the 
enemy's  heads,  and  failed  to  either  injure  or  frighten 
them.  The  rifle  firing  was  brisker  than  ever,  and  a 
kind  of  irregular  discharge  was  kept  up  from  both  sides, 
by  whose  light  strange,  fearful  glimpses  were  caught 
now  and  then  of  a  dark,  savage  face  and  glittering 
sabre,  instantly  lost  again  in  the  darkness,  while  the 
shouts  and  yells  continue  ten  times  more  demoniac  than 
before.  The  Cossacks  seem  to  have  been  thrown  into 
some  confusion,  and  are  slowly  retiring.  Here  and 
there  the  Turcomans  have  penetrated  the  lines,  and  it 
becomes  a  hand-to-hand  fight.  In  the  confusion  I  am 
separated  from  General  Golovatchofif.  When  I  find 
myself  again  by  his  side,  he  is  calmly  issuing  orders, 
but  is  covered  with  blood.  He  has  received  a  sabre 
cut;  Colonel  Friede,  his  chief  of  stafif,  is  near  him,  like- 
wise bleeding  profusely  from  a  bullet-wound  in  the 
head.  The  Turcomans  have  already  penetrated  or 
flanked  the  lines  in  many  places,  and  one  of  them 
had  wounded  General   Golovatchof?. 

Now  there  is  a  confused  rush  of  Cossacks  backwards, 
that  carries  me  along.  It  is,  perhaps,  not  a  flight,  but 
something  that  very  much  resembles  one,  or  the  be- 


A   PICTURE    OF   WAR. 

ginning  of  one;  and  besides,  there  is  something  fearful 
in  the  air,  something  the  hke  of  which  I  have  never 
experienced  before  nor  since,  and  which  I  can  only 
compare  to  the  ominous  threatening  atmosphere  said 
to  always  precede  an  earthquake;  above  the  uproar,  the 
cries  and  shouts  and  confusion,  a  low,  ominous,  fright- 
ened murmur,  like  the  commencement  of  a  cry  of  de- 
spair; we  are  on  the  verge  of  a  panic.  The  Cossacks 
have  lost  their  Colonel;  and  looking  at  them  closely, 
I  can  see  their  scared,  anxious  faces,  and  know  well 
what  that  means!  A  rout — a  massacre;  not  one  of  us 
will  escape  the  Yomuds,  with  their  fleet-footed  horses. 
Looking  towards  the  camp  we  had  left,  I  see  a  long 
line  of  dark  figures  gallop  in  between,  their  tall,  black 
forms  easily  seen  against  the  brightening  eastern  sky; 
we  are  completely  surrounded.  Away  to  the  right  is 
heard  the  crash  of  the  mitrailleuse,  which  proves  that 
the  fight  is  widely  extended. 

Prince  Eugene  dashes  past,  with  smoking  pistol,  ap- 
parently in  search  of  General  GoIovatchofT.  He  had, 
as  I  afterwards  learned,  been  surrounded  and  almost 
cut  off;  had  shot  down  two  of  the  foe  with  his  own 
hand,  while  the  officer  in  attendance  on  him  was  almost 
cut  to  pieces.  Not  knowing  whither  the  Cossacks 
may  carry  me  in  their  backward  movement,  I  determine 
to  get  out  from  among  them.  I  do  so,  and  then  find 
myself  on  the  extreme  front,  with  nothing  between  me 
and  the  enemy.  They  are  advancing  froni  the  west, 
where  all  is  in  the  most  profound  darkness;  but  I  can 
distinguish,  at  a  distance  of  probably  fifty  yards,  a  dark 
irregular  mass  of  horsemen  coming  forward  at  a  gallop. 
They  are  all  screeching  like  fiends,  and  by  the  flashes 
of  fire,  I  can  catch  glimpses  of  their  fierce,  dark  faces, 
and  the  gleam  of  drawn  sabres.  It  did  not  take  me 
long  to  perceive  that  I  could  not  stay  here,  and  quickly 
wheeling  my  horse,  I  dash  off,  first  emptying  my  re- 


221 


FAMOUS  TALES   OF   BATTLE,   CAMP  AND   SIEGE. 

volver  at  the  mass.  Almost  at  the  same  instant  a  com- 
pany of  infantry  arrives  on  my  left. 

They  come  up  in  marching  order  at  a  run,  and  with 
a  movement  something  resembling  that  of  a  lasso,  the 
officer  has  thrown  them  into  line  of  battle.  I  quickly 
spur  my  horse  behind  them,  feeling  for  the  moment 
extremely  happy.  They  stand  in  line,  the  left  foot  fore- 
most, their  rifles  ready;  in  another  second  the  order 
rings  out,  "Fire!"  and  the  air  is  rent  with  the  crash 
of  a  volley  and  the  shriek  of  flying  bullets. 

The  discharge  was  followed  by  another,  and  another, 
in  quick  succession.  It  was  time;  the  Yomuds  were  so 
close,  that  many  of  them  fell  dead  at  the  very  feet  of 
the  troops.  And  now  away  to  the  right  begins  to  be 
heard  the  loud,  fierce  roar  of  the  cannon,  which  have 
arrived  on  the  scene,  and  are  belching  forth  grape  and 
canister. 

The  coming  daylight  has  probably  been  retarded 
for  a  few  moments  by  the  dust  and  smoke  that  were 
hanging  over  us,  for  now  smoke  and  dust  are  cleared 
away  by  a  small  puff  of  wind,  and,  as  if  by  magic,  the 
darkness  rises  and  discloses  the  Turcomans  flying  over 
the  plain  on  their  swift-footed  horses,  in  full  retreat. 

I  look  around  me.  About  a  hundred  yards  away  I 
see  General  Golovatchofif's  banner,  a  number  of  Cos- 
sacks, and  several  officers  grouped  around;  the  rest  of 
the  Cossacks  collected  here  and  there  in  irregular 
groups;  the  infantry  stretched  around  in  a  broken 
circle,  about  300  yards  in  diameter,  still  in  line  of  battle; 
the  artillerymen,  beside  their  smoking  pieces,  watching 
the  retreating  enemy,  and  hesitating  about  giving  them 
a  parting  shot.     The  battle  is  over. 

Near  me  were  two  or  three  Russian  soldiers  lying 
dead,  and  three  or  four  wounded.  A  little  farther  away. 
Colonel  Esipofif.  whom  I  shook  hands  with  half  an  hour 
before  as  he  marched  out,  lay  stark  and  cold,  with  a 


A  PICTURE   OF  WAR. 

bullet  through  his  breast,  his  Cross  of  St.  George  be- 
spattered with  blood.  He  had  died  the  death  of  the 
brave. 

I  rode  up  to  where  the  General's  standard  was  wav- 
ing, anxious  to  learn  whether  he  was  badly  wounded. 
His  arm  was  bandaged  and  his  white  coat  covered  with 
blood,  but  he  still  kept  his  saddle.  The  wound  was  only 
a  sabre  cut  in  the  arm,  and  had  been  given  by  a  man 
on  foot. 

We  rode  over  the  field,  to  count  the  wounded  and 
the  dead.  The  bodies  of  Turcomans  were  strewn  about 
in  great  numbers.  Here  was  one  lying  on  his  side, 
both  hands  still  clutching  a  long  stick,  to  which  was 
tied  a  short  crooked  scythe.  He  was  barefoot,  bare- 
headed, and  was  clad  only  in  light  linen  shirt  and  trous- 
ers; the  dark  scowl  of  hate  still  clung  to  his  hard, 
rough  features,  and  there  was  still  the  stamp  of  the 
fierce  savage  spirit  that  had  led  him  with  such  unequal 
weapons  to  face  the  breech-loaders  of  the  Russians. 

Here,  three  or  four  lying  side  by  side,  as  though  shot 
down  at  the  same  instant,  and  three,  four,  or  five 
tumbled  together  about  the  body  of  a  beautiful  horse, 
as  if  successively  killed,  along  with  the  noble  beast,  in 
trying  to  help  eadi  other.  Then  more  horses,  more 
men  lying  about,  half  hidden  among  the  low  weeds  in 
the  little  hollows  of  sand.  In  one  spot  the  ground 
was  literally  covered  with  them.  But  there  were  no 
wounded;  no  groans,  no  cries  for  help.  I  was  aston- 
ished at  this  at  first,  as  although  the  Turcomans  always 
try  to  carry  off  their  wounded,  they,  of  course,  could 
not  have  carried  all  the  Russians  must  have  wounded 
in  the  recent  engagement. 

I  soon  had  an  explanation  of  the  phenomenon,  as 
horrible  as  it  was  unexpected.  I  saw  a  soldier  cau- 
tiously approach  one  of  the  dead  Turcomans.  His 
movements  were  so  strange,  they  excited  my  curiosity, 


223 


FAMOUS  TALES  OF  BATTLE,   CAMP  AND   SIEGE. 

and  I  drew  up  my  horse  at  the  distance  of  twenty  or 
thirty  feet  to  watch  him.  He  was  so  intent  on  what 
he  was  doing  that  he  did  not  observe  me;  and  I  could 
see  a  wild  scared  light  in  his  eye,  that  reminded  me 
partly  of  a  crazy  man,  partly  of  a  frightened  child. 
Suddenly,  before  I  had  in  the  least  comprehended  what 
he  was  going  to  do,  he  plunged  his  bayonet  deep  into 
the  Turcoman's  side.  I  uttered  an  involuntary  cry  of 
horror;  he  looked  up,  saw  me,  and  slunk  away  without 
a  word.  The  Turcoman  had  only  been  feigning  death; 
but  even  now  he  did  not  utter  a  groan,  nor  open  his 
eyes,  while  the  blood  gushed  from  his  side  and  mouth 
in  a  crimson  stream;  and  I  might  even  now  have 
thought  him  dead,  but  for  the  convulsive  clutching  of 
his  fingers  and  spasmodic  quivering  of  his  limbs.  I 
turned  away  sick  at  heart,  for  I  knew  the  poor  fellow 
was  past  all  human  aid. 

I  am  glad  to  be  able  to  say,  however,  for  the  honor 
of  the  Russian  troops,  that,  to  the  best  of  my  knowl- 
edge, this  was  the  only  case  of  such  cold-blooded  bar- 
barity that  occurred.  Although  I  scanned  the  field 
closely,  I  saw  no  more  incidents  of  this  kind.  This 
soldier  was  evidently  one  of  the  cowards  who  had  been 
terribly  frightened,  and  was  only  having  his  revenge. 

But  the  absence  of  wounded  was  explained.  They 
were  all  feigning  death,  for  fear  of  being  killed.  We 
counted  in  all  about  300  bodies  lying  scattered  about, 
or  piled  up  in  heaps,  with  a  good  many  horses,  but  the 
enemy  afterwards  acknowledged  a  loss  of  500.  The 
Russians'  loss  was  only  forty  in  killed  and  wounded, 
which  may  be  accounted  for  by  the  fact  that  the  Yo- 
muds  were  only  armed  with  sabres  and  scythes.  It  was 
a  bold  and  brilliant  attack,  and,  but  for  the  steadiness 
displayed  by  the  Russian  infantry,  might  have  proved 
very  disastrous  to  us.  If  a  panic  had  once  ensued, 
not  one  of  us  would  have  escaped.     And  yet  this  was 


224 


A   PICTURE    OF   WAR. 

the  first  affair  in  which  these  troops  had  ever  been  en- 
gaged. The  coolness  displayed  by  General  Golovat- 
choff  during  the  action  was  admirable,  and  probably 
had  very  much  to  do  in  preventing  a  panic. 

Early  next  morning  we  were  again  on  the  trail,  and 
soon  began  to  perceive  signs  of  the  fugitives.  Here  an 
arba  loaded  with  baggage,  which  had  been  hurriedly 
abandoned;  there  a  cow  or  a  calf  that  had  not  been  able 
to  follow;  now  an  old  woman  hid  in  a  hut,  and  almost 
paralyzed  with  fear,  supposing  she  would  be  imme- 
diately led  out  to  execution;  then  an  old  man,  ragged, 
and  dust-covered,  and  miserable,  who,  leaning  on  a 
staff,  watched  us  march  past  with  haggard  eyes.  Later 
we  began  to  come  upon  little  flocks  of  Iambs  and  kids, 
then  flocks  of  sheep  and  cattle,  and  more  arbas. 

Golovatchoff  now  ordered  the  cavalry  ahead  to  over- 
take and  attack  the  fugitives,  and  if  possible,  force  them 
to  give  battle.  Judging,  from  what  I  had  seen  the  first 
day,  that  this  attack  must  necessarily  be  on  the  lag- 
gards and  stragglers,  I  determined  to  stay  behind  with 
the  staff. 

The  cavalry  soon  disappeared  in  a  cloud  of  dust;  the 
infantry  continued  to  move  steadily  forward.  In  half 
an  hour  we  came  to  a  deep,  narrow  canal,  full  of  water, 
which  traversed  the  plain  at  right  angles  with  our  line 
of  march,  and  here  a  strange  and  fearful  scene  met  our 
gaze.  Scattered  over  the  plain  in  every  direction  were 
hundreds  of  arbas,  or  carts,  loaded  with  the  household 
goods  of  the  Yomuds.  Unable  to  cross  the  canal  on 
the  one  narrow  bridge,  they  had  cut  their  horses  loose 
and  fled,  abandoning  everything.  Some,  however,  had 
failed  to  make  their  escape;  either  because  they  had  no 
horses,  or  possibly  because  they  trusted  too  much  to 
the  clemency  of  the  Russians.  These  had  been  over- 
taken and  cut  down  by  the  Cossacks. 

Everywhere,  lying  among  the  thickly  standing  arbas, 

Vol.  I— 18  225 


FAMOUS   TALES  OF   BATTLE,   CAMP  AND   SIEGE. 

were  the  bodies,  with  sabre-cuts  on  head  and  face, 
bloody  and  ghastly.  But  worse  still  to  see  were  the 
women  cowering  under  the  carts,  like  poor  dumb  ani- 
mals, watching  us  with  fear-stricken  faces  and  be- 
seeching eyes,  but  never  uttering  a  word,  with  the  dead 
bodies  of  their  husbands,  lovers,  and  brothers  lying 
around  them.  They  expected  to  be  treated  as  they 
knew  their  own  husbands,  brothers,  and  lovers  would 
have  treated  the  vanquished  under  like  circumstances. 

I  observed  one,  however,  who  gave  no  attention  to 
what  was  passing  around  her.  She  was  holding  in  her 
lap  the  head  of  a  man  who  was  dying  from  a  terrible 
sabre-cut  in  the  head.  She  sat  gazing  on  his  face  as 
motionless  as  a  statue,  not  even  raising  her  eyes  at  our 
approach;  and  we  might  have  taken  her  attitude  for  one 
of  stolid  indifference,  but  for  the  tears  that  stole  silently 
down  from  her  long  dark  lashes,  and  dropped  on  the 
face  of  the  dying  man.  There,  at  least,  was  no  dread 
of  the  Russians.     Grief  had  banished  fear. 

But  worst  of  all  to  see  was  a  number  of  little  mites 
of  children,  whose  parents  had  probably  been  killed. 
Some  were  crawling  about  among  the  wheels,  crying; 
others,  still  sitting  in  the  carts  among  the  baggage, 
watched  us  with  curious,  childish  eyes;  one  little  girl 
crowed  and  laughed  at  the  sight  of  General  Golovat- 
chofF's  banner. 

I  took  one  of  the  crying  infants  to  a  woman  with 
wild  eyes,  who  was  sitting  under  a  cart;  but  she  paid 
no  heed  to  it,  for,  in  passing  afterwards,  I  saw  the  little 
thing  lying  on  the  ground  near  her,  screaming  its  lungs 
away. 

The  General  and  staff  stopping  here  a  few  minutes,  I 
rode  slowly  forward  alone.  Everywhere  were  the  aban- 
doned arbas,  piled  full  of  carpets,  cushions,  cooking 
utensils,  threshed  wheat,  spun  silk,  and  clothing;  and 
now  and  again  the  body  of  a  sabred  Yomud.     Here  an 


226 


A   PICTURE    OF   WAR. 

old  woman,  eighty  I  should  say,  was  sitting  prone  in 
the  middle  of  the  road,  with  an  infant  in  her  arms, 
over  which  she  was  bending  in  an  attitude  of  resigna- 
tion and  despair.  With  closed  eyes  she  waited,  as 
though  resolved  not  to  look  on  the  sabre  she  expected 
would  cut  off  both  their  lives  together.  She  would  not 
abandon  her  little  grandchild,  though  perhaps  the 
mother  had.  Farther  on  was  a  young  and  pretty 
woman  under  an  arba,  with  bleeding  face,  and  torn 
robe,  and  a  woe-stricken  countenance  that  told  its  own 
story.  Acting  upon  an  unreasoning  impulse,  I  offered 
her  money;  but  she  flung  it  back,  and  bowed  her  head 
in  her  hands  with  a  sob. 

I  must  say,  however,  that  cases  of  violence  towards 
women  were  very  rare;  and  although  the  Russians  here 
were  fighting  barbarians  who  commit  all  sorts  of  atro- 
cities upon  their  prisoners,  which  fact  might  have  ex- 
cused a  good  deal  of  cruelty  on  the  part  of  the  soldiers, 
their  conduct  was  infinitely  better  than  that  of  Euro- 
pean troops  in  European  campaigns. 

A  little  farther  on  was  an  old  woman  lying  near  the 
road,  wounded  with  a  bad  sabre-cut  in  the  neck;  but 
she  might  easily  have  been  taken  for  a  man,  as  she 
wore  no  turban.  The  orders  were  to  give  the  men  no 
quarter,  whether  they  resisted  or  not.  This  was  the 
only  woman  I  saw  wounded,  though  I  was  told  there 
were  three  or  four  other  cases. 

I  had  now  advanced  some  two  miles  on  the  plain, 
which  was  still  covered  with  the  abandoned  carts.  They 
were  scattered  about  in  groups  of  five  or  six;  some  in 
the  road,  some  a  quarter  or  a  half  a  mile  to  the  right 
and  left,  as  though  their  owners  had  hoped  to  escape 
into  the  desert,  when  the  approach  of  the  Cossacks 
forced  them  to  abandon  the  attempt. 

Fifteen  or  twenty  Yomuds  on  horseback  now  showed 
themselves  a  short  distance  away  in  the  desert,  and  as 


227 


FAMOUS  TALES  OF  BATTLE,   CAMP  AND   SIEGE. 

the  'infantry  was  some  two  miles  behind,  and  the  cavalry 
probably  three  or  four  in  advance,  I  thought  it  prudent 
to  halt.  While  waiting  here,  a  Yomud,  who  had  prob- 
ably been  hiding  somewhere  in  the  vicinity,  suddenly 
appeared  coming  towards  me.  He  was  only  armed  with 
a  stick,  but  his  manner  was  so  defiant,  that  I  seized  my 
revolver.  Even  then  he  did  not  show  the  slightest 
sign  of  fear,  but  crossed  the  road  before  me,  at  a  dis- 
tance of  not  more  than  ten  feet,  scrowling  at  me  with 
his  fierce  black  eyes,  as  though  half  tempted  to  attack 
me  with  his  club,  in  spite  of  my  two  revolvers  and  my 
breech-loading  rifle. 

My  first  impulse  was  to  make  him  throw  down  his 
stick  and  tender  his  submission  to  me,  as  one  of  his 
conquerors,  but  the  fellow  had  such  an  audacious,  inde- 
pendent bearing,  that  he  excited  my  admiration;  I 
thought,  besides,  it  would  not  be  a  brave  thing  to  do, 
with  such  odds  in  my  favor.  He  walked  off  without 
so  much  as  bidding  me  good-day,  and  disappeared 
among  the  low  hillocks  of  sand. 

The  infantry  soon  came  up,  and  the  march  was  con- 
tinued some  four  or  five  miles  farther.  More  sheep, 
more  cattle,  more  camels,  young  and  old,  but  no  horses. 
It  is  not  a  little  remarkable,  that  although  many  thou- 
sand head  of  sheep  and  cattle  were  captured  during  the 
course  of  the  campaign,  not  a  single  horse  was  caught; 
and  it  shows  how  wise  the  Yomuds  were  in  prizing  so 
highly  their  splendid  beasts.  Probably  only  those  who 
had  no  horses  were  caught  and  killed  in  this  day's 
chase. 

Seeing  two  or  three  Cossacks  pillaging  a  group  of 
carts  a  short  distance  from  our  line  of  march,  I  rode 
out  to  inspect  the  operation.  The  bodies  of  two  Yo- 
muds were  lying  on  the  ground;  and  a  little  girl,  three 
years  old,  standing  beside  the  dead  bodies,  watched  the 


228 


A   PICTURE    OF   WAR. 

pillaging  operation  in  a  bewildered  way,  peculiar  to 
children,  and  wept  quietly,   but  bitterly. 

As  the  little  thing,  if  left  here,  would  have  died  <^i 
thirst,  I  took  her  upon  my  horse,  with  the  intention  of 
leaving  her  with  the  next  woman  I  should  find.  Soon 
after  perceiving  another,  I  handed  the  first  over  to  the 
care  of  my  comrade,  Chertkoff,  and  went  after  the 
second.  The  poor  child  had  a  great  gash  cut  in  her 
foot,  as  though  she  had  stepped  on  a  sabre;  and  the 
wound,  full  of  sand  and  exposed  to  the  hot  sun,  must 
have  been  painful.  She  was  not  shedding  a  tear,  but 
stood  watching  the  Cossacks  pillaging  an  arba,  prob- 
ably her  own  father's,  with  bright,  curious,  but  defiant 
eyes.  When  I  offered  to  take  her  on  my  horse,  she  ran 
away,  and  I  was  obliged  to  dismount  in  order  to  cap- 
ture her. 

Then  she  struggled  and  scratched,  and  bit  like  a  little 
wild  cat;  and  not  till  I  had  exhausted  all  my  vocabulary 
of  Tartar  on  her  did  she  at  last  consent  to  go  with  me. 
But  when  I  succeeded  in  persuading  her  of  my  peaceful 
intentions,  she  put  her  arms  around  my  neck  and  went 
to  sleep.  The  poor  little  thing  was  completely  covered 
with  dust  and  dirt,  and  looked  as  though  she  had  been 
dragged  through  a  mud  puddle.  She  had  probably  not 
been  washed  since  the  flight  had  commenced  more  than 
a  week  ago,  and  the  fugitives  had  been  traveling  in 
clouds  of  dust  during  the  whole  time. 

I  cut  a  rather  ridiculous  figure  riding  along  the  lines 
with  the  little  barbarian's  arms  tightly  clasped  around 
my  neck,  and  her  little  queer-shaped  head,  covered  an 
inch  thick  with  dust,  lying  on  my  breast.  I  soon 
found  I  was  in  good  company,  though,  for  I  met  an 
officer  of  the  staff  with  a  like  acquisition — also  a  little 
girl.  The  Yomuds  seemed  to  have  abandoned  their 
girls  with  less  reluctance  than  their  boys. 

Before  arriving  in  camp  I  saw  five  or  six  women,  to 


229 


FAMOUS  TALES   OF   BATTLE,   CAMP  AND   SIEGE. 

whom  I  offered  my  little  protegee,  but  they  refused  to 
accept  it,  pointing  to  their  own  children.  They  did  not 
certainly  appear  to  be  in  a  condition  to  take  charge  of 
another  child,  as  they  each  had  four  or  five  already;  so 
I  carried  mine  into  camp,  not  knowing  exactly  what  to 
do  with  her.  The  most  practical  plan  seemed  to  be  to 
throw  her  away  and  have  done,  but  I  might  as  well 
have  left  her  in  the  desert  at  once,  to  feed  the  jackals. 
While  debating  the  matter,  I  made  a  bed  for  her  under 
a  cart,  with  a  pile  of  cotton,  of  which  masses  were  lying 
about  along  with  rugs,  carpets,  and  cooking  utensils, 
the  remains  of  the  pillaged  carts.  Then,  with  the  aid 
of  the  doctor,  I  washed  and  dressed  her  wounded  foot. 
She  was  a  brave  little  thing,  and  won  our  admiration 
by  the  way  in  which  she  stood  the  dressing  of  the 
wound.  Although  it  was  terribly  swelled  and  inflamed, 
and  full  of  sand,  and  must  have  hurt  her  dreadfully 
when  we  were  cleaning  it,  she  never  shed  a  tear.  After 
a  good  deal  of  scrubbing,  I  got  her  face  clean  enough 
to  see  what  she  looked  like,  and  found  her  rather  pretty. 
She  drank  water  greedily,  probably  being  the  first  she 
had  tasted  that  day.  Seeing  a  soldier  milking  a  cap- 
tured cow,  I  bought  as  much  fresh  milk  as  she  could 
drink,  after  which  she  went  to  sleep  on  her  bed  of  cot- 
ton. In  short,  I  got  so  interested  in  the  little  outcast, 
and  she  was  such  a  brave  little  thing,  that  it  was  with 
reluctance  I  gave  her  up  to  the  mother,  whom  I  after- 
wards found.  The  mother,  although  overjoyed  to  find 
her  child,  did  not  seem  particularly  grateful  to  me,  and 
never  looked  at  me  once  afterwards.  This  was  rather 
hard.  I  thought,  considering  I  had  returned  the  child 
with  a  well-appointed  wardrobe  I  had  pillaged  for  the 
occasion,  besides  a  piece  of  gold,  which  will  probably 
go  to  make  up  her  marriage  portion,  ten  years  hence. 
Perhaps  she  thanked  the  Kafir  in  her  heart  of  hearts, 
though,  all  the  same. 


230 


A   PICTURE    OF   WAR. 

After  a  halt  of  three  hours,  during  which  time  we 
pillaged  and  set  fire  to  all  the  carts  that  were  captured 
here,  we  took  up  our  march  back  to  Iliali. 

Some  fifty  or  sixty  women  were  captured  here,  but 
they  were  allowed  to  remain  behind,  and  were  probably 
soon  rejoined  by  their  friends. 

The  soldiers  were  ordered  to  take  everything  of  value 
and  burn  the  rest;  and  the  Cossacks  executed  the  order 
with  a  right  good  will.  Carpets,  silk  stuffs,  and  articles 
of  clothing,  with  occasional  silver  ornaments,  were  the 
principal  objects  of  value;  and  the  road  was  soon 
strewn  with  unspun  cotton,  raw  silk,  old  carpets,  which 
the  soldiers  had  not  thought  worth  taking,  together 
with  grain,  flour,  cooking  utensils,  skins  of  milk,  and  all 
sorts  of  household  goods. 

It  was  sad  to  see  the  poor,  simple  articles  of  house- 
hold use,  wrecks  of  so  many  simple  happy  homes, 
trampled  in  the  dust.  For  with  these  simple  people 
every  article  of  the  household  is  an  old  and  well-known 
friend,  to  which  they  have  become  attached  by  long 
use,  and  with  which  are  associated  many  remembrances 
and  souvenirs;  over  Which  has  been  told  many  a  mystic 
charm.  It  is  sad  to  think  of  the  women  coming  back 
over  this  road,  trying  to  save  something  from  the  gen- 
eral ruin,  and  weeping,  perhaps,  over  some  familiar 
prized  article,  that  would  remind  them  of  a  happy  home 
now  in  ashes. 

But  there  were  other  things  sadder  still  to  excite  one's 
sympathy  and  compassion. 

In  one  place  were  the  bodies  of  three  Yomuds,  lying 
in  their  blood,  and  near  them  six  children,  of  the  ages 
of  four  to  eight,  all  alone  with  their  dead.  The  eldest, 
a  sturdy  little  fellow,  was  taking  care  of  the  others,  as 
well  as  he  could.  He  was  engaged  in  making  up  a  bed 
for  them,  under  a  cart,  with  bits  of  cotton,  silk,  worn- 
out  rugs,   and  old  carpets — all   that  was   left   of  their 


331 


FAMOUS  TALES   OF   BATTLE,   CAMP  AND   SIEGE. 

once  well-furnished  kibitka.  He  did  not  pay  the  slight- 
est attention  to  me  when  I  rode  up,  but  continued  his 
task,  without  even  looking  up;  and,  I  have  no  doubt, 
his  little  baby  heart  swelled  with  rage  and  indignation 
at  the  sight  of  me.  Twenty  years  hence,  some  of  the 
"Kafirs"  will  probably  feel  how  well  the  child  had 
learned  to  hate  them. 

I  took  care  that  the  soldiers  should  not  burn  the  cart 
under  which  the  children  had  taken  refuge,  found  them 
a  skin  of  milk,  and  rode  off  after  the  rear-guard,  leav- 
ing them  alone  with  their  dead  in  the  wide,  wide   desert. 

I  only  saw  one  child  that  had  been  killed.  It  was  a 
very  young  infant,  and  looked  as  though  it  had  received 
a  simple  blow  from  a  horse's  hoof  or  some  other  object, 
as  there  was  no  sign  of  blood  on  it. 

Our  march  all  the  way  back  was  marked  by  fire  and 
flame.  Arrived  at  the  canal  before  spoken  of,  where 
were  the  first  mass  of  arbas,  I  found  they  had  been  com- 
pletely pillaged,  and  that  nearly  all  the  women  and 
children  had  disappeared.  A  few  still  remained,  how- 
ever; and  it  was  curious  to  see  a  Cossack  stop  from  his 
work  of  plunder  to  give  a  child  a  piece  of  bread,  or  a 
drink  of  water  from  his  flask,  in  the  gentlest  manner 
possible,  and  then  resume  his  occupation. 

I  found  the  little  girl  that  had  crowed  so  gleefully  in 
the  morning  at  the  sight  of  General  Golovatchoff's 
banner  still  sitting  in  the  same  cart.  It  was  now  near 
night-fall,  and  the  poor  little  thing  had  been  there  all 
day  in  the  hot  sun,  with  nothing  to  drink,  waiting  pa- 
tiently till  she  should  be  taken  away.  I  found  a  skin 
of  milk  among  the  thousand  other  things  that  lay  scat- 
tered about,  and  gave  her  to  drink,  not  without  diffi- 
culty, as  I  could  not  find  a  single  drinking  cup. 

There  were  some  five  or  six  hundred  arbas  here,  so 
closely  packed  together,  that  one  or  two  having  been 
fired,  the  flames  spread  rapidly,  and  were  now  approach- 


232 


A   PICTURE    OF   WAR. 

ing  the  one  in  which  sat  the  Httle  girl.  I  took  her  away 
far  enough  to  be  out  of  danger,  and  put  her  down  on 
a  piece  of  carpet,  wondering  what  I  should  do  with  her. 
Although  there  were  three  or  four  women  still  here, 
the  fact  of  their  having  left  her  all  day  alone  was  suffi- 
cient evidence  that  they  could  not  be  depended  upon 
to  take  charge  of  her.  It  was  now  near  dark,  and  the 
Yomuds  could  hardly  be  expected  back  before  the  next 
day;  in  the  meantime  the  jackals  were  plentiful,  and 
could  already  be  heard  howling  in  the  distance. 

I  had  about  decided  to  take  her  into  camp,  when  I 
observed  a  woman  approach,  whom  I  had  not  yet  seen, 
leading  two  children.  I  showed  her  the  child  and 
asked,  "Yours?"  "Yok,"  "no,"  she  replied;  and  point- 
ing to  a  Yomud  stretched  out  on  the  ground,  added, 
"his."  "Any  mother?"  I  ask.  "Yok,"  "no."  Then  I 
told  her  by  signs  I  would  take  it  with  me  to  camp. 
She  did  not  seem  to  relish  the  idea,  so  I  asked  her  if 
she  would  take  charge  of  it  herself.  This  she  did 
readily.  I  gave  her  a  piece  of  gold,  and  told  her  not 
to  stay  here.  She  took  the  little  girl  in  her  arms, 
and  walked  off  along  the  canal,  across  the  wide  open 
plain,  with  the  two  others  trudging  wearily  after  her, 
wandering,  God  knows  whither. 

The  rear-guard  did  not  reach  camp  until  long  after 
•dark,  owing  to  the  great  numbers  of  sheep,  cattle,  and 
camels  we  had  captured,  and  which  made  our  progress 
necessarily  slow.  Their  bawling  and  bleating,  filling 
the  whole  plain,  was  mournful  enough  in  the  darkness; 
while  low  down  on  the  southern  sky  could  be  seen  the 
glare  of  the  burning  arbas,  telling  a  sad  tale  of  blight 
and  ruin. 


233 


THE    DOWNFALL   OF   THE 
MOORS 


THE    DOWNFALL   OF    THE 
MOORS 

Washington  Irving:    From  "The    Conquest  of  Granada" 


I      ZAHARA. 

TN  the  year  of  our  Lord  one  thousand  four  hundred 
and  eighty-one,  and  but  a  night  or  two  after  the 
festival  of  the  most  blessed  Nativity,  the  inhabitants  of 
Zahara  were  sunk  in  profound  sleep;  the  very  sentinel 
had  deserted  his  post,  and  sought  shelter  from  a  tem- 
pest which  had  raged  for  three  nights  in  succession; 
for  it  appeared  but  little  probable  that  an  enemy  would 
be  abroad  during  sucii  an  uproar  of  the  elements.  This 
important  post  was  built  on  the  crest  of  a  rocky  moun- 
tain, with  a  strong  castle  perched  above  it,  upon  a 
cliff,  so  high  that  it  was  said  to  be  above  the  flight  of 
birds  or  drift  of  clouds.  The  streets  and  many  of  the 
houses  were  mere  excavations,  wrought  out  of  the 
living  rock.  The  town  had  but  one  gate,  opening  to 
the  west,  and  defended  by  towers  and  bulwarks.  The 
only  ascent  to  this  cragged  fortress  was  by  roads  cut 
in  the  rock,  so  rugged  in  many  places  as  to  resemble 
broken  stairs. 

But  evil  spirits  work  best  during  a  storm.  In  the 
midst  of  the  night,  an  uproar  rose  within  the  walls  of 
Zahara,  more  awful  than  the  raging  of  the  storm.  A 
fearful  alarm  cry — "The  Moor!  the  Moor!"  resounded 


^n 


FAMOUS  TALES   OF   BATTLE,   CAMP  AND   SIEGE. 

through  the  streets,  mingled  with  the  clash  of  arms, 
the  shriek  of  anguish,  and  the  shout  of  victory.  Muley 
Abul  Hassan,  at  the  head  of  a  powerful  force,  had 
hurried  from  Granada,  and  passed  unobserved  through 
the  mountains  in  the  obscurity  of  the  tempest.  While 
the  storm  pelted  the  sentinel  from  his  post,  and  howled 
round  tower  and  battlement,  the  Moors  had  planted 
their  scaling-ladders,  and  mounted  securely  into  both 
town  and  castle.  The  garrison  was  unsuspicious  of 
danger,  until  battle  and  massacre  burst  forth  within  its 
very  walls.  It  seemed  to  the  affrighted  inhabitants,  as 
if  the  fiends  of  the  air  had  come  upon  the  wings  of  the 
wind,  and  possessed  themselves  of  tower  and  turret. 
The  war-cry  resounded  on  every  side,  shout  answering 
shout,  above,  below,  on  the  battlements  of  the  castle, 
in  the  streets  of  the  town — the  foe  was  in  all  parts, 
wrapped  in  obscurity,  but  acting  in  concert  by  the  aid 
of  preconcerted  signals.  Starting  from  sleep,  the 
soldiers  were  intercepted  and  cut  down  as  they  rushed 
from  their  quarters;  or,  if  they  escaped,  they  knew 
not  where  to  assemble,  or  where  to  strike.  Wherever 
lights  appeared,  the  flashing  scimeter  was  at  its  deadly 
work,  and  all  who  attempted  resistance  fell  beneath  its 
edge. 

In  a  little  while  the  struggle  was  at  an  end.  Those 
who  were  not  slain  took  refuge  in  the  secret  places  of 
their  houses,  or  gave  themselves  up  as  captives.  The 
clash  of  arms  ceased;  and  the  storm  continued  its 
howling,  mingled  with  the  occasional  shout  of  the 
Moorish  soldiery,  roaming  in  search  of  plunder.  While 
the  inhabitants  were  trembling  for  their  fate,  a  trumpet 
resounded  through  the  streets  summoning  them  all 
to  assemble,  unarmed,  in  the  public  square.  Here  they 
were  surrounded  by  soldiery,  and  strictly  guarded,  until 
daybreak.  When  the  day  dawned,  it  was  piteous  to 
behold  this  once  prosperous  community,  who  had  laid 

238 


THE    DOWNFALL    OF    THE    MOORS. 

down  to  rest  in  peaceful  security,  now  crowded  together 
without  distinction  of  age,  or  rank,  or  sex,  and  almost 
without  raiment,  during  the  severity  of  a  wintry  storm. 
The  fierce  Muley  Abul  Hassan  turned  a  deaf  ear  to  all 
their  prayers  and  remonstrances,  and  ordered  them  to 
be  conducted  captives  to  Granada.  Leaving  a  strong 
garrison  in  both  town  and  castle,  with  orders  to  put 
them  in  a  complete  state  of  defence,  he  returned, 
flushed  with  victory,  to  his  capital,  entering  it  at  the 
head  of  his  troops,  laden  with  spoil,  and  bearing  in 
triumph  the  banners  and  pennons  taken  at  Zahara. 

While  preparations  were  making  for  jousts  and  other 
festivities,  in  honor  of  this  victory  over  the  Christians, 
the  captives  of  Zahara  arrived — a  wretched  train  of 
men,  women,  and  children,  worn  out  with  fatigue  and 
haggard  with  despair,  and  driven  like  cattle  into  the 
city  gates,  by  a  detachment  of  Moorish  soldiery. 

Deep  was  the  grief  and  indignation  of  the  people  of 
Granada,  at  this  cruel  scene.  Old  men,  who  had  ex- 
perienced the  calamities  of  warfare,  anticipated  coming 
troubles.  Mothers  clasped  their  infants  to  their  breasts, 
as  they  beheld  the  hapless  females  of  Zahara,  with 
their  children  expiring  in  their  arms.  On  every  side, 
the  accents  of  pity  for  the  sufferers  were  mingled  with 
execrations  of  the  barbarity  of  the  king.  The  prepara- 
tions for  festivity  were  neglected;  and  the  viands,  which 
were  to  have  feasted  the  conquerors,  were  distributed 
among  the  captives. 

The  nobles  and  alfaquis,  however,  repaired  to  the 
Alhambra,  to  congratulate  the  king;  for,  whatever 
storms  may  rage  in  the  lower  regions  of  society,  rarely 
do  any  clouds,  but  clouds  of  incense,  rise  to  the  awful 
eminence  of  the  throne.  In  this  instance,  however,  a 
voice  rose  from  the  midst  of  the  obsequious  crowd, 
and  burst  like  thunder  upon  the  ears  of  Abul  Hassan. 
"Woe!  woe!  woe!  to  Granada!"  exclaimed  the  voice; 


239 


FAMOUS  TALES  OF   BATTLE,   CAMP  AND   SIEGE. 

"its  hour  of  desolation  approaches.  The  ruins  of 
Zahara  will  fall  upon  our  heads;  my  spirit  tells  me  that 
the  end  of  our  empire  is  at  hand!"  All  shrank  back 
aghast,  and  left  the  denouncer  of  woe  standing  alone 
in  the  centre  of  the  hall.  He  was  an  ancient  and  hoary 
man,  in  the  rude  attire  of  a  dervise.  Age  had  withered 
his  form  without  quenching  the  fire  of  his  spirit,  which 
glared  in  baleful  lustre  from  his  eyes.  He  was  (say  the 
Arabian  historians)  one  of  those  holy  men  termed 
santons,  who  pass  their  lives  in  hermitages,  in  fasting, 
meditation,  and  prayer,  until  they  attain  to  the  purity 
of  saints  and  the  foresight  of  prophets.  "He  was," 
says  the  indignant  Fray  Antonio  Agapida,  "a  son  of 
Belial,  one  of  those  fanatic  infidels  possessed  by  the 
devil,  who  are  sometimes  permitted  to  predict  the 
truth  to  their  followers;  but  with  the  proviso,  that  their 
predictions  shall  be  of  no  avail." 

The  voice  of  the  santon  resounded  through  the 
lofty  hall  of  the  Alhambra,  and  struck  silence  and  awe 
into  the  crowd  of  courtly  sycophants.  Muley  Abul 
Hassan  alone  was  unmoved;  he  eyed  the  hoary  anchor- 
ite with  scorn  as  he  stood  dauntless  before  him,  and 
treated  his  predictions  as  the  ravings  of  a  maniac.  The 
santon  rushed  from  the  royal  presence,  and,  descend- 
ing into  the  city,  hurried  through  its  streets  and  squares 
with  frantic  gesticulations.  His  voice  was  heard,  in 
every  part,  in  awful  denunciation.  "The  peace  is 
broken!  exterminating  war  is  commenced.  Woe!  woe! 
woe  to  Granada!  its  fall  is  at  hand!  desolation  will 
dwell  in  its  palaces;  its  strong  men  will  fall  beneath 
the  sword,  its  children  and  maidens  be  led  into  captiv- 
ity.    Zahara  is  but  a  type  of  Granada!" 

Terror  seized  upon  the  populace,  for  they  considered 
these  ravings  as  the  inspirations  of  prophecy.  Some 
hid  themselves  in  their  dwellings,  as  in  a  time  of  gen- 
eral mourning;  while  some  gathered  together  in  knots 


240 


THE    DOWNFALL    OF    THE    MOORS, 

in  the  streets  and  squares,  alarming  each  other  with 
dismal  forebodings,  and  cursing  the  rashness  and 
cruelty  of  the  king. 


II     ALHAMA 

Great  was  the  indignation  of  King  Ferdinand  when 
he  heard  of  the  storming  of  Zahara.  Muley  Abul  Has- 
san had  rashly  or  unwarily  thrown  the  brand  that  was 
to  produce  the  wide  conflagration.  Ferdinand  was  not 
the  one  to  quench  the  flames.  He  immediately  issued 
orders  to  all  the  adelantados  and  alcaydes  of  the  front- 
iers, to  maintain  the  utmost  vigilance  at  their  several 
posts,  and  to  prepare  to  carry  fire  and  sword  into  the 
territories  of  the  Moors. 

Among  the  many  valiant  cavaliers  who  rallied  round 
the  throne  of  Ferdinand  and  Isabella,  one  of  the  most 
eminent  in  rank  and  renowned  in  arms,  was  Don 
Roderigo  Ponce  de  Leon,  Marques  of  Cadiz.  He  was 
considered  the  mirror  of  chivalry  of  his  times,  and 
compared  by  contemporary  historians  to  the  immortal 
Cid. 

The  Marques  of  Cadiz  had  vast  possessions  in  the 
most  fertile  parts  of  Andalusia,  including  many  towns 
and  castles,  and  could  lead  forth  an  army  into  the  field 
from  his  own  vassals  and  dependants.  On  receiving 
the  orders  of  the  king,  he  burned  to  signalize  himself 
by  some  sudden  incursion  into  the  kingdom  of  Gra- 
nada, that  should  give  a  brilliant  commencement  to 
the  war,  and  should  console  the  sovereigns  for  the  in- 
sult they  had  received  in  the  capture  of  Zahara.  As 
his  estates  lay  near  to  the  Moorish  frontiers,  and  were 
subject  to  sudden  inroads,  he  had  always  in  his  pay 
numbers  of  adalides,  or  scouts   and  guides,   many  of 

Vol.  I — 19  241 


FAMOUS  TALES  OF   BATTLE,   CAMP  AND   SIEGE. 


them  converted  Moors.  These  he  sent  out  in  all  di- 
rections, to  watch  the  movements  of  the  enemy,  and 
to  procure  all  kinds  of  information  important  to  the 
security  of  the  frontier.  One  of  these  spies  came  to 
him  one  day  in  his  town  of  Marchena,  and  informed 
him  that  the  Moorish  town  of  Alhama  was  slightly 
garrisoned  and  negligently  guarded,  and  might  be 
taken  by  surprise.  This  was  a  large,  wealthy,  and 
populous  place,  within  a  few  leagues  of  Granada.  It 
was  situated  on  a  rocky  height,  nearly  surrounded  by  a 
river,  and  defended  by  a  fortress  to  which  there  was  no 
access  but  by  a  steep  and  cragged  ascent.  The  strength 
of  its  situation,  and  its  being  embosomed  in  the  centre 
of  the  kingdom,  had  produced  the  careless  security 
which  now  invited  attack. 

To  ascertain  fully  the  state  of  the  fortress,  the  mar- 
ques dispatched  secretly  a  veteran  soldier,  who  was 
highly  in  his  confidence.  His  name  was  Ortega  de 
Prado,  a  man  of  great  activity,  shrewdness,  and  valor, 
and  captain  of  escaladors  (soldiers  employed  to  scale 
the  walls  of  fortresses  in  time  of  attack).  Ortega  ap- 
proached Alhama  one  moonless  night,  and  paced  along 
its  walls  with  noiseless  step,  laying  his  ear  occasionally 
to  the  ground  or  to  the  wall.  Every  time,  he  distin- 
guished the  measured  tread  of  a  sentinel,  and  now  and 
then  the  challenge  of  the  night-watch  going  its  rounds. 
Finding  the  town  thus  guarded,  he  clambered  to  the 
castle — there  all  was  silent.  As  he  ranged  its  lofty 
battlements,  between  him  and  the  sky  he  saw  no 
sentinel  on  duty.  He  noticed  certain  places  where  the 
wall  might  be  ascended  by  scaling-laders;  and,  having 
marked  the  hour  of  relieving  guard,  and  made  all 
necessary  observations,  he  retired  without  being  dis- 
covered. 

Ortega  returned  to  Marchena,  and  assured  the  Mar- 
ques of  Cadiz  of  the  practicability  of  scaling  the  castle 


242 


THE  DOWNFALL  OF  THE  MOORS. 

of  Alhama,  and  taking  it  by  surprise.  The  marques 
had  a  secret  conference  with  Don  Pedro  Enriquez, 
Adelantado  of  Andalusia;  Don  Diego  de  Merlo,  com- 
mander of  Seville;  Sancho  de  Avila,  alcayde  of  Car- 
mona,  and  others,  who  all  agreed  to  aid  him  with  their 
forces.  On  an  appointed  day,  the  several  commanders 
assembled  at  Marchena  with  their  troops  and  retainers. 
None  but  the  leaders  knew  the  object  or  destination 
of  the  enterprise;  but  it  was  enough  to  rouse  the 
Andalusian  spirit,  to  know  that  a  foray  was  intended 
into  the  country  of  their  old  enemies,  the  Moors.  Se- 
crecy and  -celerity  were  necessary  for  success.  They 
set  out  promptly,  with  three  thousand  genetes,  or  light 
cavalry,  and  four  thousand  infantry.  They  chose  a 
route  but  little  traveled,  by  the  way  of  Antiquera,  pass- 
ing with  great  labor  through  rugged  and  solitary  de- 
files of  the  Sierra  or  chain  of  mountains  of  Arrecife, 
and  left  all  their  baggage  on  the  banks  of  the  river 
Yeguas,  to  be  brought  after  them.  This  march  was 
principally  in  the  night;  all  day  they  remained  quiet; 
lio  noise  was  suffered  in  their  camp,  and  no  fires  were 
made,  lest  the  smoke  should  betray  them.  On  the 
third  day  they  resumed  their  march  as  the  evening 
darkened,  and  forcing  themselves  forward  at  as  quick 
a  pace  as  the  rugged  and  dangerous  mountain  roads 
would  permit,  they  descended  towards  midnight  into 
a  small  deep  valley,  only  half  a  league  from  Alhama. 
Here  they  made  a  halt,  fatigued  by  this  forced  march, 
during  a  long  dark  evening  towards  the  end  of  Febru- 
ary. 

The  Marques  of  Cadiz  now  explained  to  the  troops 
the  object  of  the  expedition.  He  told  them  it  was  for 
the  glory  of  the  most  holy  faith,  and  to  avenge  the 
wrongs  of  their  countrymen  at  Zahara;  and  that  the 
town  of  Alhama,  full  of  wealthy  spoil,  was  the  place 
to  be  attacked.     The  troops  were  roused  to  new  ardor 


243 


FAMOUS  TALES   OF  BATTLE,   CAMP  AND   SIEGE. 

by  these  words,  and  desired  to  be  led  forthwith  to  the 
assault.  They  arrived  close  to  Alhama  about  two 
hours  before  daybreak.  Here  the  army  remained  in 
ambush,  while  three  hundred  men  were  dispatched  to 
scale  the  walls  and  get  possession  of  the  castle.  They 
were  picked  men,  many  of  them  alcaydes  and  officers, 
men  who  preferred  death  to  dishonor.  This  gallant 
band  was  guided  by  the  escalador  Ortega  de  Prado,  at 
the  head  of  thirty  men  with  scaling-ladders.  They 
clambered  the  ascent  to  the  castle  in  silence,  and  ar- 
rived under  the  dark  shadow  of  its  towers  without  be- 
ing discovered.  Not  a  light  was  to  be  seen,  not  a 
sound  to  be  heard;  the  whole  place  was  wrapped  in 
profound  repose. 

Fixing  their  ladders,  they  ascended  cautiously  and 
with  noiseless  steps.  Ortega  was  the  first  that  mounted 
upon  the  battlements,  followed  by  one  Martin  Galindo, 
a  youthful  esquire,  full  of  spirit  and  eager  for  dis- 
tinction. Moving  stealthily  along  the  parapet  to  the 
portal  of  the  citadel,  they  came  upon  the  sentinel  by 
surprise.  Ortega  seized  him  by  the  throat,  brandished 
a  dagger  before  his  eyes,  and  ordered  him  to  point  the 
way  to  the  guard-room.  The  infidel  obeyed,  and  was 
instantly  dispatched,  to  prevent  his  giving  an  alarm. 
The  guard-room  was  a  scene  rather  of  massacre  than 
combat.  Some  of  the  soldiery  were  killed  while  sleep- 
ing, others  were  cut  down  almost  without  resistance, 
bewildered  by  so  unexpected  an  assault;  all  were 
dispatched,  for  the  scaling  party  was  too  small  to  make 
prisoners  or  to  spare.  The  alarm  spread  throughout 
the  castle,  but  by  this  time  the  three  hundred  picked 
men  had  mounted  the  battlements.  The  garrison, 
startled  from  sleep,  found  the  enemy  already  masters 
of  the  towers.  Some  of  the  Moors  were  cut  down  at 
once,  others  fought  desperately  from  room  to  room, 
and  the  whole  castle  resounded  with  the  clash  of  arms, 


^M 


THE    DOWNFALL    OF    THE    MOORS. 

the  cries  of  the  combatants,  and  the  groans  of  the 
wounded.  The  army  in  ambush,  finding  by  the  uproar 
that  the  castle  was  surprised,  now  rushed  from  their 
concealment,  and  approached  the  walls  with  loud 
shouts,  and  sound  of  kettle-drums  and  trumpets,  to 
increase  the  confusion  and  dismay  of  the  garrison.  A 
violent  conflict  took  place  in  the  court  of  the  castle, 
where  several  of  the  scaling  party  sought  to  throw  open 
the  gates  to  admit  their  countrymen.  Here  fell  two 
valiant  alcaydes,  Nicholas  de  Roja  and  Sancho  de 
Avila;  but  they  fell  honorably,  upon  a  heap  of  slain. 
At  length  Ortega  de  Prado  succeeded  in  throwing  open 
a  postern,  through  which  the  Marques  of  Cadiz,  the 
adelantado  of  Andalusia,  and  Don  Diego  de  i\Ierlo 
entered  with  a  host  of  followers,  and  the  citadel  re- 
mained in  full  possession  of  the  Christians. 

The  castle  was  now  taken;  but  the  town  below  it  was 
in  arms.  It  was  broad  day,  and  the  people,  recovered 
from  their  panic,  were  enabled  to  see  and  estimate  the 
force  of  the  enemy.  The  inhabitants  were  chiefly  mer- 
chants and  tradespeople;  but  the  Moors  all  possessed  a 
knowledge  of  the  use  of  weapons,  and  were  of  brave 
and  warlike  spirit.  They  confided  in  the  strength  of 
their  walls,  and  the  certainty  of  speedy  relief  from 
Granada,  which  was  but  about  eight  leagues  distant. 
Manning  the  battlements  and  towers,  they  discharged 
showers  of  stones  and  arrows,  whenever  the  part  of  the 
Christian  army,  without  the  walls,  attempted  to  ap- 
proach. They  barricaded  the  entrances  of  their 
streets,  also,  which  opened  towards  the  castle;  station- 
ing men  expert  at  the  cross-bow  and  arquebuse.  These 
kept  up  a  constant  fire  upon  the  gates  of  the  castle,  so 
that  no  one  could  sally  forth  without  being  instantly 
shot  down.  Two  valiant  cavaliers,  who  attempted  to 
lead  forth  a  party  in  defiance  of  this  fatal  tempest,  were 
shot  dead  at  the  very  portal. 

245 


FAMOUS  TALES   OF  BATTLE,   CAMP  AND   SIEGE. 

The  Christians  now  found  themselves  in  a  situation 
of  great  peril.  Reinforcements  must  soon  arrive  to 
the  enemy  from  Granada;  unless,  therefore,  they  gained 
possession  of  the  town  in  the  course  of  the  day,  they 
were  likely  to  be  surrounded  and  beleagured,  without 
provisions,  in  the  castle.  Some  observed  that,  even  if 
they  took  the  town,  they  should  not  be  able  to  maintain 
possession  of  it.  They  proposed,  therefore,  to  make 
booty  of  everything  valuable,  to  sack  the  castle,  set  it 
on  fire,  and  make  good  their  retreat  to  Seville. 

The  Marques  of  Cadiz  was  of  different  counsel.  "God 
has  given  the  citadel  into  Christian  hands,"  said  he; 
"He  will  no  doubt  strengthen  them  to  maintain  it. 
We  have  gained  the  place  with  difficulty  and  blood- 
shed; it  would  be  a  stain  upon  our  honor  to  abandon 
it  through  fear  of  imaginary  dangers.  The  adelantado 
and  Don  Diego  de  Merlo  joined  in  his  opinion;  but 
without  their  earnest  and  united  remonstrances,  the 
place  would  have  been  abandoned,  so  exhausted  were 
the  troops  by  forced  marches  and  hard  fighting,  and  so 
apprehensive  of  the  approach  of  the  Moors  of  Granada. 

The  strength  and  spirits  of  the  party  within  the 
castle  were  in  some  degree  restored  by  the  provisions 
which  they  found.  The  Christian  army  beneath  the 
town,  being  also  refreshed  by  a  morning's  repast,  ad- 
vanced vigorously  to  the  attack  of  the  walls.  They 
planted  their  scaling-ladders,  and,  swarming  up,  sword 
in  hand,  fought  fiercely  with  the  Moorish  soldiery  upon 
the  ramparts. 

In  the  meantime,  the  Marques  of  Cadiz,  seeing  that 
the  gate  of  the  castle,  which  opened  toward  the  city, 
was  completely  commanded  by  the  artillery  of  the 
enemy,  ordered  a  large  breach  to  be  made  in  the  wall, 
through  which  he  might  lead  his  troops  to  the  attack; 
animating  them,  in  this  perilous  moment,  by  assuring 


246 


THE    DOWNFALL    OF    THE    MOORS. 

them  that  the  place  should  be  given  up  to  plunder,  and 
its  inhabitants  made  captives. 

The  breach  being  made,  the  marques  put  himself  at 
the  head  of  his  troops,  and  entered  sword  in  hand.  A 
simultaneous  attack  was  made  by  the  Christians  in  every 
part — by  the  ramparts,  by  the  gate,  by  the  roofs  and 
walls  which  connected  the  castle  with  the  town.  The 
Moors  fought  valiantly  in  their  streets,  from  their 
windows,  and  from  the  tops  of  their  houses.  They 
were  not  equal  to  the  Christians  in  bodily  strength, 
for  they  were  for  the  most  part  peaceful  men,  of  indus- 
trious callings,  and  enervated  by  the  frequent  use  of  the 
warm  bath;  but  they  were  superior  in  number,  and  un- 
conquerable in  spirit;  old  and  young,  strong  and  weak, 
fought  with  the  same  desperation.  The  Moors  fought 
for  property,  for  liberty,  for  life.  They  fought  at  their 
thresholds  and  their  hearths,  with  the  shrieks  of  their 
wives  and  children  ringing  in  their  ears,  and  they 
fought  in  the  hope  that  each  moment  would  bring  aid 
from  Granada.  They  regarded  neither  their  own 
wounds  nor  the  death  of  their  companions;  but  contin- 
ued fighting  until  they  fell,  and  seemed  as  if,  when  they 
could  no  longer  contend,  they  would  block  up  the 
thresholds  of  their  beloved  homes  with  their  mangled 
bodies.  The  Christians  fought  for  glory,  for  revenge, 
for  the  holy  faith,  and  for  the  spoil  of  these  wealthy 
infidels.  Success  would  place  a  rich  town  at  their 
mercy;  failure  would  deliver  them  into  the  hands  of  the 
tyrant  of  Granada. 

The  contest  raged  from  morning  till  night,  when 
the  Moors  began  to  yield.  Retreating  to  a  large 
mosque  near  the  walls,  they  kept  up  so  galling  a  fire 
from  it  with  lances,  cross-bows,  and  arquebuses,  that 
for  some  time  the  Christians  dared  not  approach.     Cov- 


247 


FAMOUS  TALES   OF   BATTLE,   CAMP  AND   SIEGE. 

ering  themselves,  at  length,  with  bucklers  and  mantelets 
to  protect  them  from  the  deadly  shower,  the  latter 
made  their  way  to  the  mosque,  and  set  fire  to  the 
doors.  When  the  smoke  and  flames  rolled  in  upon 
them,  the  Moors  gave  up  all  as  lost.  Many  rushed 
forth  desperately  upon  the  enemy,  but  were  imme- 
diately slain;  the  rest  surrendered  themselves  captives. 

The  struggle  was  now  at  an  end;  the  town  remained 
at  the  mercy  of  the  Christians;  and  the  inhabitants, 
both  male  and  female,  became  the  slaves  of  those  who 
made  them  prisoners.  Some  few  escaped  by  way  of  a 
subterranean  way,  which  led  to  the  river,  and  concealed 
themselves,  their  wives  and  children,  in  caves  and 
secret  places;  but  in  three  or  four  days  were  compelled 
to  surrender  themselves  through  hunger. 

The  town  was  given  up  to  plunder,  and  the  booty 
was  immense.  There  were  found  prodigious  quantities 
of  gold  and  silver,  and  jewels,  and  rich  silks,  and  costly 
stufTs  of  all  kinds;  together  with  horses  and  beeves, 
and  abundance  of  grain  and  oil,  and  honey,  and  all 
other  productions  of  this  fruitful  kingdom;  for  in 
Alhama  were  collected  the  royal  rents  and  tributes  of 
the  surrounding  country;  it  was  the  richest  town  in  the 
Moorish  territory,  and,  from  its  great  strength  and  its 
peculiar  situation,  was  called  the  key  to  Granada. 

Great  waste  and  devastation  were  committed  by  the 
Spanish  soldiery;  for,  thinking  it  would  be  impossible 
to  keep  possession  of  the  place,  they  began  to  destroy 
whatever  they  could  not  take  away.  Immense  jars  of 
oil  were  broken,  costly  furniture  shattered  to  pieces, 
and  magazines  of  grain  broken  open,  and  their  con- 
tents scattered  to  the  winds.  Many  Christian  captives, 
who  had  been  taken  at  Zahara,  were  found  buried  in  a 
Moorish  dungeon,  and  were  triumphantly  restored  to 

248 


THE    DOWNFALL    OF    THE    MOORS. 

light  and  liberty;  and  a  renegade  Spaniard,  who  had 
often  served  as  guide  to  the  Moors  in  their  incursions 
into  the  Christian  territories,  was  hanged  on  the  high- 
est part  of  the  battlements,  for  the  edification  of  the 
army. 

Ill     THE  SIEGE 

A  Moorish  horseman  had  spurred  across  the  vega, 
nor  reined  his  panting  steed  until  he  alighted  at  the 
gate  of  the  Alhambra.  He  brought  tidings  to  Muley 
Abul  Hassan  of  the  attack  upon  Alhama.  "The 
Christians,"  said  he,  "are  in  the  land.  They  came  upon 
us,  we  know  not  whence  nor  how,  and  scaled  the  walls 
of  the  castle  in  the  night.  There  has  been  dreadful 
fighting  and  carnage  in  its  towers  and  courts;  and 
when  I  spurred  my  steed  from  the  gate  of  Alhama,  the 
castle  was  in  possession  of  the  unbelievers." 

Muley  Abul  Hassan  felt  for  a  moment  as  if  swift 
retribution  had  come  upon  him  for  the  woes  he  had 
inflicted  upon  Zahara.  Still  he  flattered  himself  that 
this  had  only  been  some  transient  inroad  of  a  party  of 
marauders,  intent  upon  plunder;  and  that  a  little  succor, 
thrown  into  the  town,  would  be  sufficient  to  expel  them 
from  the  castle,  and  drive  them  from  the  land.  He 
ordered  out,  therefore,  a  thousand  of  his  chosen  cav- 
alry, and  sent  them  in  all  speed  to  the  assistance  of  Al- 
hama. They  arrived  before  its  walls,  the  morning 
after  its  capture;  the  Christian  standard  floated  from 
its  towers,  and  a  body  of  cavalry  poured  forth  from  its 
gates  and  came  wheeling  down  into  the  plain  to  receive 
them. 

The  Moorish  horsemen  turned  the  reins  of  their 
steeds,  and  galloped  back  for  Granada.  They  entered 
its  gates  in  tumultuous  confusion,  spreading  terror  and 
lamentation  by  their  tidings.     "Alhama  is  fallen!     Al- 


249 


FAMOUS  TALES   OF   BATTLE,   CAMP  AND   SIEGE. 

hama  is  fallen!"  exclaimed  they;  "the  Christians  garri- 
son its  walls;  the  key  of  Granada  is  in  the  hands  of  the 
enemy!" 

When  the  people  heard  these  words,  they  remem- 
bered the  denunciation  of  the  santon.  His  prediction 
seemed  still  to  resound  in  every  ear,  and  its  fulfilment 
to  be  at  hand.  Nothing  was  heard  throughout  the 
city,  but  sighs  and  wailings.  "Woe  is  me,  Alhama!" 
was  in  every  mouth;  and  this  ejaculation  of  deep  sor- 
row and  doleful  foreboding,  came  to  be  the  burthen  of 
a  plaintive  ballad,  which  remains  until  the  present  day. 

Many  aged  men,  who  had  taken  refuge  in  Granada 
from  other  Aloorish  dominions  which  had  fallen  into 
the  power  of  the  Christians,  now  groaned  in  despair 
at  the  thoughts  that  war  was  to  follow  them  into  this 
last  retreat,  to  lay  waste  this  pleasant  land,  and  to  bring 
trouble  and  sorrow  upon  their  declining  years.  The 
women  were  more  loud  and  vehement  in  their  grief; 
for  they  beheld  the  evils  impending  over  their  children, 
and  what  can  restrain  the  agony  of  a  mother's  heart? 
Many  of  them  made  their  way  through  the  walls  of  the 
Alhambra  into  the  presence  of  the  king,  weeping,  and 
wailing,  and  tearing  their  hair.  "Accursed  be  the  day," 
cried  they,  "that  thou  hast  lit  the  f^ame  of  war  in  our 
land!  May  the  holy  Prophet  bear  witness  before  Allah, 
that  we  and  our  children  are  innocent  of  this  act! 
Upon  thy  head,  and  upon  the  heads  of  thy  posterity, 
until  the  end  of  the  world,  rest  the  sin  of  the  desola- 
tion of  Zahara!" 

Muley  Abul  Hassan  remained  unmoved,  amidst  all 
this  storm;  his  heart  was  hardened  (observes  Fray 
Antonio  Agapida)  like  that  of  Pharoah,  to  the  end  that, 
through  his  blind  violence  and  rage,  he  might  produce 
the  deliverance  of  the  land  from  its  heathen  bondage. 
In  fact,  he  was  a  bold  and  fearless  warrior,  and  trusted 
soon  to  make  his  blow  recoil  upon  the  head  of  the 

250 


The  Gates  of  Justice,  Alhambra,  Granada,  Spain 


'^«as"3WKawrK 


.'■ji^ 

t::; 

lieu  into 

'   in 

despair 

m  : 

into  this 

md 

to  bring 

s.     The 

-t'^.-'t:  - 

-  of  the 

ng,  and 

;  e  dsy," 

>old  and  '  !  trusted 


THE  DOWNFALL  OF  THE  MOORS. 

enemy.  He  had  ascertained  that  the  captors  of  Alhama 
were  but  a  handful;  they  were  in  the  centre  of  his 
dominions,  within  a  short  distance  of  his  capital.  They 
were  deficient  in  munitions  of  war,  and  provisions  for 
sustaining  a  siege.  By  a  rapid  movement,  he  might 
surround  them  with  a  powerful  army,  cut  ofT  all  aid 
from  their  countrymen,  and  entrap  them  in  the  fortress 
they  had  taken. 

To  think  was  to  act,  with  Muley  Abut  Hassan;  but 
he  was  prone  to  act  with  too  much  precipitation.  He 
immediately  set  forth  in  person,  with  three  thousand 
horse  and  fifty  thousand  foot,  and  in  his  eagerness  to 
arrive  at  the  scene  of  action,  would  not  wait  to  provide 
artillery  and  the  various  engines  required  in  a  siege. 
"The  multitude  of  my  forces,"  said  he,  confidently, 
"will  be  sufficient  to  overwhelm  the  enemy." 

As  the  army  approached  the  town,  they  beheld  the 
fields  strewn  with  the  dead  bodies  of  their  countrymen, 
who  had  fallen  in  defence  of  the  place,  and  had  been 
cast  forth  and  left  unburied  by  the  Christians.  There 
they  lay,  mangled  and  exposed  to  every  indignity;  while 
droves  of  half-famished  dogs  were  preying  upon  them, 
and  fighting  and  howling,  over  their  hideous  repast. 
Furious  at  the  sight,  the  Moors,  in  the  first  transports 
of  their  rage,  attacked  those  ravenous  animals;  their 
next  measure  was  to  vent  their  fury  upon  the  Christians. 
They  rushed  like  madmen  to  the  walls,  applied  scaling- 
ladders  in  all  parts,  without  waiting  for  the  necessary 
mantelets  and  other  protections — thinking,  by  attack- 
ing, suddenly  and  at  various  points,  to  distract  the 
enemy,  and  overcome  them  by  the  force  of  numbers. 

The  Marques  of  Cadiz,  with  his  confederate  com- 
manders, distributed  themselves  along  the  walls,  to 
direct  and  animate  their  men  in  the  defence.  The 
Moors,  in  their  blind  fury,  often  assailed  the  most 
difficult  and  dangerous  places.     Darts,  stones,  and  all 

251 


FAMOUS  TALES   OF   BATTLE.   CAMP  AND   SIEGE. 

kinds  of  missiles,  were  hurled  down  upon  their  defence- 
less heads.  As  fast  as  they  mounted,  they  were  cut 
down,  or  dashed  from  the  battlements,  their  ladders 
overturned,  and  all  who  were  on  them  precipitated 
headlong  below. 

Muley  Abul  Hassan  stormed  with  passion  at  the 
sight;  he  sent  detachment  after  detachment  to  scale  the 
walls — but  in  vain;  they  were  like  waves  rushing  upon 
a  rock,  only  to  dash  themselves  to  pieces.  The  Moors 
lay  in  heaps  beneath  the  wall,  and  among  them  many 
of  the  bravest  cavaliers  of  Granada.  The  Christians, 
also,  sallied  frequently  from  the  gates,  and  made  great 
havoc  in  the  irregular  multitude  of  assailants. 

Muley  Abul  Hassan  now  became  sensible  of  his  error 
in  hurrying  from  Granada  without  the  proper  engines 
for  a  siege.  Destitute  of  all  means  to  batter  the  fortifi- 
cations, the  town  remained  uninjured,  defying  the 
mighty  army  which  raged  and  roamed  before  it.  In- 
censed at  being  thus  foiled,  Muley  Abul  Hassan  gave 
orders  to  undermine  the  walls.  The  Moors  advanced 
with  shouts  to  the  attempt.  They  were  received  with  a 
deadly  fire  from  the  ramparts,  which  drove  them  from 
their  works.  Repeatedly  were  they  repulsed,  and  re- 
peatedly did  they  return  to  the  charge.  The  Christians 
not  merely  galled  them  from  the  battlements,  but  issued 
forth  and  cut  them  down  in  the  excavations  they  were 
attempting  to  form.  The  contest  lasted  throughout  a 
whole  day,  and  by  evening  two  thousand  Moors  were 
either  killed  or  wounded. 

Muley  Abul  Hassan  now  abandoned  all  hope  of  car- 
rying the  place  by  assault,  and  attempted  to  distress 
it  into  terms  by  turning  the  channel  of  the  river  which 
runs  by  its  walls.  On  this  stream  the  inhabitants  de- 
pended for  their  supply  of  water;  the  place  being  desti- 
tute of  fountains  and  cisterns,  from  which  circum- 
stances it  is  called  Alhama  la  seca,  or  "the  dry." 

252 


THE    DOWNFALL    OF    THE    MOORS. 

A  desperate  conflict  ensued  on  the  banks  of  the  river, 
the  Moors  endeavoring  to  plant  palisades  in  its  bed 
to  divert  the  stream,  and  the  Christians  striving  to 
prevent  them.  The  Spanish  commanders  exposed 
themselves  to  the  utmost  danger  to  animate  their  men, 
who  were  repeatedly  driven  back  into  the  town.  The 
Marques  of  Cadiz  was  often  up  to  his  knees  in  the 
stream,  fighting  hand  to  hand  with  the  Moors.  The 
water  ran  red  with  blood,  and  was  encumbered  with 
dead  bodies.  At  length,  the  overwhelming  numbers 
of  the  Moors  gave  them  the  advantage,  and  they  suc- 
ceeded in  diverting  the  greater  part  of  the  water.  The 
Christians  had  to  struggle  severely,  to  supply  them- 
selves from  the  feeble  rill  which  remained.  They  sal- 
lied to  the  river  by  a  subterraneous  passage;  but  the 
Moorish  cross-bowmen  stationed  themselves  on  the 
opposite  bank,  keeping  up  a  heavy  fire  upon  the  Chris- 
tians, whenever  they  attempted  to  fill  their  vessels  from 
the  scanty  and  turbid  stream.  One  party  of  the  Chris- 
tians had,  therefore,  to  fight,  while  another  drew 
water.  At  all  hours  of  the  day  and  night,  this  deadly 
strife  was  maintained,  until  it  seemed  as  if  every  drop 
of  water  were  purchased  with  a  drop  of  blood. 

In  the  meantime  the  sufiferings  of  the  town  became 
intense.  None  but  the  soldiery  and  their  horses  were 
allowed  the  precious  beverage  so  dearly  earned,  and 
even  that  in  quantities  that  only  tantalized  their  wants. 
The  wounded,  who  could  not  sally  to  procure  it,  were 
almost  destitute;  while  the  unhappy  prisoners,  shut  up 
in  the  mosques,  were  reduced  to  frightful  extremities. 
Many  perished  raving  mad,  fancying  themselves  swim- 
ming in  boundless  seas,  yet  unable  to  assuage  ihcir 
thirst.  Many  of  the  soldiers  lay  parched  and  panting 
along  the  battlements,  no  longer  able  to  draw  a  bow- 
string or  hurl  a  stone;  while  above  five  thousand 
Moors,    stationed    upon    a    rocky    height    which    ovcr- 

253 


FAMOUS  TALES   OF  BATTLE.   CAMP  AND   SIEGE. 

looked  part  of  the  town,  kept  up  a  galling  fire  into  it 
with  slings  and  cross-bows;  so  that  the  Marques  of 
Cadiz  was  obliged  to  heighten  the  battlements,  by 
using  the  doors  from  the  private  dwellings. 

The  Christian  cavaliers,  exposed  to  this  extreme 
peril,  and  in  imminent  danger  of  falling  into  the  hands 
of  the  enemy,  dispatched  fleet  messengers  to  Seville 
and  Cordova,  entreating  the  chivalry  of  Andalusia  to 
hasten  to  their  aid.  They  sent  likewise,  imploring  as- 
sistance from  the  king  and  queen,  who  at  that  time 
held  their  court  in  Medina  del  Campo.  In  the  midst 
of  their  distress,  a  tank,  or  cistern,  of  water,  was  for- 
tunately discovered  in  the  city,  which  gave  temporary 
relief  to  their  sufferings. 

While  all  Andalusia  was  in  arms,  and  pouring  its 
chivalry  through  the  mountain  passes  of  the  Moorish 
frontiers,  the  garrison  of  Alhama  was  reduced  to  great 
extremity,  and  in  danger  of  sinking  under  its  suffer- 
ings before  the  promised  succor  could  arrive.  The 
intolerable  thirst  that  prevailed  in  consequence  of  the 
scarcity  of  water,  the  incessant  watch  that  had  to  be 
maintained  over  the  vast  force  of  enemies  without,  and 
the  great  number  of  prisoners  within,  and  the  wounds 
which  almost  every  soldier  had  received  in  the  incess- 
ant skirmishes  and  assaults,  had  worn  grievously  both 
flesh  and  spirit.  The  noble  Ponce  de  Leon,  Marques 
of  Cadiz,  still  animated  the  soldiery,  however,  by  word 
and  example,  sharing  every  hardship  and  being  fore- 
most in  every  danger;  exemplifying  that  a  good  com- 
mander is  the  vital  spirit  of  an  army. 

When  Muley  Abul  Hassan  heard  of  the  vast  force 
that  was  approaching  under  the  command  of  the  Duke 
of  Medina  Sidonia,  and  that  Ferdinand  was  coming  in 
person  with  additional  troops,  he  perceived  that  no 
time  was  to  be  lost;  Alhama  must  be  carried  by  one 


254 


THE  DOWNFALL  OF  THE  MOORS. 

powerful  attack,  or  abandoned  entirely  to  the  Chris- 
tians. 

A  number  of  Moorish  cavaliers,  some  of  the  bravest 
youth  of  Granada,  knowing  the  wishes  of  the  king, 
proposed  to  undertake  a  desperate  enterprise,  which,  if 
successful,  must  put  Alhama  in  his  power.  Early  one 
morning,  when  it  was  scarcely  the  gray  of  the  dawn, 
about  the  time  of  changing  the  watch,  these  cavaliers 
approached  the  town,  at  a  place  considered  inaccessible, 
from  the  steepness  of  the  rocks  on  which  the  wall  was 
founded;  which,  it  was  supposed, ,  elevated  the  battle- 
ments beyond  the  reach  of  the  longest  scaling-ladder. 
The  Moorish  knights,  aided  by  a  number  of  the  strong- 
est and  most  active  escaladors,  mounted  these  rocks, 
and  applied  the  ladders,  without  being  discovered;  for, 
to  divert  attention  from  them,  Muley  Abul  Hassen 
made  a  false  attack  upon  the  town  in  another  quarter. 

The  scaling  party  mounted  with  difficulty,  and  in 
small  numbers;  the  sentinel  was  killed  at  his  post,  and 
seventy  of  the  Moors  made  their  way  into  the  streets 
before  an  alarm  was  given.  The  guards  rushed  to  the 
walls,  to  stop  the  hostile  throng  that  was  still  pouring 
in.  A  sharp  conflict,  hand  to  hand  and  man  to  man, 
took  place  on  the  battlements,  and  many  on  both  sides 
fell.  The  Moors,  whether  wounded  or  slain,  were 
thrown  headlong  without  the  walls;  the  scaling-ladders 
were  overturned,  and  those  who  were  mounting  were 
dashed  upon  the  rocks,  and  from  thence  tumbled  upon 
the  plain.  Thus,  in  a  little  while  the  ramparts  were 
cleared  by  Christian  prowess,  led  on  by  that  valiant 
knight  Don  Alonzo  Ponce,  the  uncle,  and  that  brave 
esquire  Pedro  Pineda,  nephew  of  the  Marques  of  Cadiz. 

The  walls  being  cleared,  these  two  kindred  cavaliers 
now  hastened  with  their  forces  in  pursuit  of  the  seventy 
Moors  who  had  gained  an  entrance  into  the  town.  The 
main  party  of  the  garrison  being  engaged  at  a  distance 

255 


FAMOUS  TALES   OF   BATTLE,   CAMP  AND   SIEGE. 

resisting  the  feigned  attack  of  the  Moorish  king,  this 
fierce  band  of  infidels  had  ranged  the  streets  almost 
without  opposition,  and  were  making  their  way  to 
the  gates  to  throw  them  open  to  the  army.  They  were 
chosen  men  from  among  the  Moorish  forces,  several  of 
them  gallant  knights  of  the  proudest  families  of  Gra- 
nada. Their  footsteps  through  the  city  were  in  a  man- 
ner printed  in  blood,  and  they  were  tracked  by  the 
bodies  of  those  they  had  killed  and  wounded.  They 
had  attained  the  gate;  most  of  the  guard  had  fallen  be- 
neath their  scimetars;  a  moment  more,  and  Alhama 
would  have  been  thrown  open  to  the  enemy. 

Just  at  this  juncture,  Don  Alonzo  Ponce  and  Pedro 
de  Pineda  reached  the  spot  with  their  forces.  The 
Moors  had  the  enemy  in  front  and  rear;  they  placed 
themselves  back  to  back^  with  their  banner  in  the 
centre.  In  this  way  they  fought  with  desperate  and 
deadly  determination,  making  a  rampart  around  them 
with  the  slain.  More  Christian  troops  arrived,  and 
hemmed  them  in;  but  still  they  fought,  without  asking 
for  quarters.  As  their  numbers  decreased,  they  serried 
their  circle  still  closer;  defending  their  banner  from 
assault;  and  the  last  Moor  died  at  his  post,  grasping 
the  standard  of  the  Prophet.  This  standard  was  dis- 
played from  the  walls,  and  the  turbaned  heads  of  the 
Moors  were  thrown  down  to  the  besiegers. 

Muley  Abul  Hassan  tore  his  beard  with  rage  at  the 
failure  of  this  attempt,  and  at  the  death  of  so  many  of 
his  chosen  cavaliers.  He  saw  that  all  further  effort 
was  in  vain;  his  scouts  brought  word  that  they  had 
seen  from  the  heights  the  long  columns  and  flaunting 
banners  of  the  Christian  army  approaching  through 
the  mountains.  To  linger,  would  be  to  place  himself 
between  two  bodies  of  the  enemy.     Breaking  up  his 

256 


THE    DOWNFALL    OF    THE    MOORS. 

camp,  therefore,  in  all  haste,  he  gave  up  the  siege  of 
Alhama,  and  hastened  back  to  Granada;  and  the  last 
clash  of  his  cymbals  scarce  died  upon  the  ear  from  the 
distant  hills,  before  the  standard  of  the  Duke  of 
Medina  Sidonia  was  seen  emerging  in  another  direction 
from  the  defiles  of  the  mountains. 


THE  END 


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